Heron
swooped on across the sea, rising to the crest of each roller, then sliding down into the trough, where her bow would part the water like an ax, sending silver plumes of spray flying back on either side of the ship. Hal glanced astern from time to time, making sure that the white path of her wake remained straight.
Gort watched approvingly. The boy was not only a good navigator, he was an expert helmsman. He noted the small, almost unconscious movements of the steering oar that Hal made to compensate for continuing variations in wind, wave action and current.
Stig had rejoined his skirl on the steering platform. Edvin stood nearby, watching the hourglass, ready to turn it when the sand ran out. The rest of the crew relaxed on the rowing benches.
“Time!” called Edvin as the last grains of sand trickled through from the top of the hourglass. Quickly, he turned it so that the sand began running back the other way. Hal glanced at him as he called out.
“Let me know when it’s half gone,” he said and Edvin nodded.
Gort leaned back against the lee rail, relaxing in the warm morning sunshine. After watching and instructing this crew of discards for the past few months, he had grown to admire their spirit and ingenuity. Although he was supposed to be impartial, he secretly hoped they would win the overall contest. That might shut up Tursgud’s father with his boasting. He might be the Maktig, the Mighty One, but at times he could be a mighty bore.
“Time!”
Edvin’s call rang through Gort’s consciousness and he realized he’d dozed off, leaning against the bulwark in the sun. He smiled to himself. It was an old campaigner’s trick to be able to sleep standing up, he thought.
Hal ordered the sail lowered and brought the ship up into the wind so that the way fell off her. She rocked smoothly on the swell. Gort looked around the horizon, sniffing the air. His seaman’s sense told him that the wind had strengthened. He wondered if Hal had noticed.
Hal, Edvin and Stig were grouped together on the steering platform once more, puzzling over the sheet of instructions.
“A fireplace without a fire. What the blazes do they mean?” Hal muttered, not noticing the unintentional pun. He noticed Gort looking at them and said accusingly, “Who wrote this nonsense?”
Gort shrugged. “I think Sigurd did it. He rather fancies himself a bard, you know.”
“I’m glad he does. Because I certainly don’t,” Hal said.
Stig, who was methodically searching the horizon, shading his eyes with his right hand, stopped and touched Hal’s sleeve.
“What does that look like to you?” he said. He pointed to a spot over their starboard quarter. “There,” he said. “That island.”
The island was delineated sharp black against the glistening surface of the ocean. Hal hesitated, but Edvin answered almost immediately. “A house. A house with a tall chimney at one end,” he said. Then, realizing an alternative interpretation of his words, he added thoughtfully, “A fireplace without a fire, maybe?”
“Exactly,” Stig answered. “A stone chimney. And where there’s a chimney, there must be a fireplace. And this one has no fire in it.”
Hal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe …” He looked around, searching desperately. But otherwise, the horizon was bare and he could see no other possible feature that might match the line of the poem.
“If we’re wrong … ,” he began.
But Stig interrupted impatiently. “We’re not! What else can it be? That’s it! The fireplace without a fire!”
Hal came to a decision. Stig was right. There was no other possibility anywhere in sight.
“All right!” he said. “That must be it!”
He took out his sun compass again. This was an instrument similar to a sundial, which showed the direction of true north. Sun compasses needed constant recalibration, but he’d adjusted this one only two days before so it should be accurate still. He aligned it now, his back to the distant chimney-shaped island, then took a bearing two compass points north of his line of vision. With only the open sea ahead of them, and no fixed reference point to center on, he’d have to take constant bearings as they went.
“Make sail!” he ordered. “Starboard side sail!”
As the crew hauled the starboard yardarm up, the pressure of the wind against the loose sail began turning the ship slowly to starboard. Stig and the crew hauled in on the ropes and once more Hal felt the thrill of the ship coming alive beneath his feet, felt the tremor of power in the steering oar. He swung the bow until the ship was headed along the bearing he had taken.
Heron
heeled over under the freshening wind, water slopping over her leeside gunwale. Stig eased the sail and the ship came a little more upright. He set the twins to bailing out the water that had come on board.
They were running north of northeast now, with the wind almost on their beam. Hal had noticed that the wind had strengthened. He looked to the northwest and saw a dark line of clouds. He frowned.
“Hope we’re finished before that hits us,” he said, to nobody in particular. Then, raising his voice, he called to them all:
“Listen, everyone! We’re looking for two trees that form a V shape. My guess is they’ll be on an island somewhere. Or maybe back on the mainland. I want everyone on the railings, keeping a lookout. Not you, Ingvar,” he added quickly as the big boy stumbled to his feet and lurched perilously toward the railing. Ingvar smiled his thanks and sat down again. Hal continued.
“Stefan! Masthead again, please. And keep a lookout all round. We don’t know where these trees will be!”
Stefan nodded and swarmed up into the lookout position once more. Stig and Edvin moved to opposite sides of the stern, searching long arcs to either side. Ulf and Wulf did the same in the bow.
An hour passed. Hal checked his direction every fifteen minutes with the sun but there was no sign of any V-shaped trees. Another half hour went by and Hal was beginning to feel the despair of failure in the pit of his stomach. What if he’d made a mistake? What if his bearings were off-line? What if the island had been merely an island, and not the fireplace without a fire? But they were committed to this course now and had been for too long. There was nothing they could do now except plunge on like this, searching for the trees, hoping that they hadn’t made a terrible mistake somewhere.
He glanced at Gort, hoping to see some sign in the instructor’s body language or expression that he was either right or wrong. But there was nothing to learn there. Gort was slumped against the railing, eyes closed again.
“Island!”
It was Stefan, pointing to something off the starboard bow. Shading his eyes, Hal looked in the direction he was pointing. Slowly, the dark mass of an island swam up over the horizon. As they drew closer, he felt Stig’s arm gripping his shoulder painfully.
“Look!” his friend cried. “Look at the pines!”
At the top of a bluff at one end of the island, two massive pines grew side by side. But at some time in the past, probably when it was a young sapling, the left-hand tree had been pushed away from the vertical by a storm. Now it leaned at an angle to its neighbor.
“Two trees that form a V!” Hal yelled triumphantly. And the rest of the crew joined in, leaping, yelling, cheering and waving their hands like madmen. Even Ingvar was cavorting, once he was told that the trees that formed a V were in sight. Hal swung the bow downwind, signaling to Stig to adjust the sail to match their new heading.
As they ran in closer, they could see two small flags fluttering at the foot of the trees. There was a shallow cove with a strip of sandy beach beneath the bluff where the trees stood and he steered for it. He dropped the sail thirty meters from the beach and ran the ship neatly onto the sand, feeling her grate to a halt. He grinned triumphantly at his crew.
“All right. Let’s fetch that flag and get out of here.”
“I’ll get it!” Stig yelled and vaulted over the rail to the beach. He began to sprint up the sand.
Hal, his face one large grin of relief, slumped against the steering oar as he watched him go. Then Stefan’s cry drew his attention.
“Hal!”
Hal swung round to look in the direction Stefan was pointing. Heading into the small bay, oars thrashing the water to foam, was the
Porpoise.
chapter
thirty-nine
H
al looked back to the bluff. Stig was halfway up the slope now, slowing down as the ground became steeper. Hal cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at the top of his voice.
“Stig! Hurry!”
Off to his right, he heard the grating sound of a ship’s prow sliding ashore. He glanced quickly to see Tursgud dropping from the bow to the sand, then heading at a run for the bluff. The Sharks’ leader paid no attention to the
Heron
and her crew, only a few meters away. The race was too close now for any time to be wasted on insults. He reached the foot of the bluff and started to climb. As luck would have it, he found an easier path than the one Stig had selected and he sped up the slope.
Hal looked anxiously at Stig again. His friend hadn’t heard Hal’s frantic call and had slowed to a walk, out of breath after his initial burst of enthusiasm. He had his hands on his hips and his head down. Tursgud was still running, leaping recklessly from boulder to boulder, gaining ground with every stride. And Stig was oblivious to the fact.
Hal called to the crew. “Everybody call him! All together. One … two … three …”
“ST-I-I-IG!!!”
The sound of their combined voices echoed around the bay. This time, Stig heard them and he looked down. They saw his start of surprise as he made out the
Porpoise
alongside them on the beach, then a further jolt of alarm when he saw Tursgud, barely forty meters away and moving fast.
Galvanized into action, Stig started running again. He reached their flag and tugged it free, then turned to race back down to the beach. Tursgud passed him, going the other way. But now there were only a few meters separating them.
There was a spontaneous groan from the
Heron
’s crew as Stig slipped and fell, rolling several meters down the slope.
“What happened?” said Ingvar instantly.
Stefan turned to him. “Stig fell. But he’s up again now.”
And he was. But the fall had cost him precious time and Tursgud was breathing down his neck as they plunged down the treacherous slope.
“Careful … careful … ,” Hal muttered, in a frenzy of worry. If Stig fell again, it could prove to be a disaster. Even worse, if he fell and injured himself …
But he didn’t. He kept his feet and emerged at the foot of the bluff, Tursgud close behind him.
“Over the side!” Hal yelled. “Get ready to shove her off!”
The other six boys tumbled over the rail to the beach. In Ingvar’s case, literally. He hit the beach awkwardly and fell heavily to the sand. But he was up in an instant and took his place at the bow.
To their right, the crew of the
Porpoise
were preparing to launch as well.
Stig, hampered by the soft sand, blundered up to the ship’s bow. He tossed the flag on board and, exhausted as he was, set his shoulder against the ship’s hull.
“Heave!” yelled Jesper, who had the good sense to realize that Stig had no breath for yelling commands. They strained against the hull and she began to move, a few centimeters at a time.
“Heave!” yelled Jesper again, and again they slid her a few centimeters. “Come on, Ingvar!” he yelled. The big boy set his feet, took a deep breath and shoved with all his might. And suddenly, the ship was floating free. Ulf, Wulf and Stefan all fell as she suddenly moved. But they were up again almost immediately, the two twins blaming each other for the accident.
“Shut up and get aboard!” Hal yelled.
The crew of the
Porpoise
hadn’t got their ship moving yet. Then Ingvar lost his grip as he came aboard and fell back to the sand again. Instantly, Wulf and Stefan went over after him, grabbed him and bundled him over the side of the ship.
“Oars!” Hal yelled. The little bay blanketed the wind. They’d have to row her out before they could set the sail. The crew scrambled onto the benches and there was a prolonged rattle and clatter as they ran their oars out.
“Back water! Heave!” Hal yelled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Porpoise
beginning to move, sliding free of the sand.
Heron
began to gather sternway under the force of the oars. Hal waited until he had room to turn her.
“Starboard side back! Port side forward!” he yelled. With the oars working in different directions, the ship pivoted neatly. “Ahead together!” he yelled and, as the ship began to move ahead, he heaved on the steering oar, bringing her round until she was heading for the open sea.
Jesper, knowing that Stig would still be short of breath, continued to fill in for him, calling the stroke for his shipmates. Hal saw that
Porpoise
was off the beach and had turned her bow to the open water. Her oars were beating like long, white wings.