“Faster, Jesper!” he called and Jesper increased the rate. The seven Herons strained muscle and sinew at the oars. Wavelets chuckled against the hull as she accelerated.
“All you’ve got, Ingvar!” Hal pleaded. Ingvar closed his eyes and complied, heaving with every ounce of strength he possessed. Hal compensated for the extra thrust on his side and the
Heron
moved faster still.
But, fast as she was moving, she couldn’t keep
Porpoise
at bay. Behind him, Hal could hear Tursgud yelling instructions to his crew. Heard the lead oarsman calling an even faster rate to the other rowers. Then he glimpsed movement with his peripheral vision.
Porpoise
was overtaking them. Her bow was alongside
Heron
’s stern. Then it slid forward, creeping past them. He looked across and saw Tursgud’s mocking salute as
Porpoise
took the lead.
She was thirty meters ahead when they finally emerged from the shelter of the bay and Hal could feel the strong northwest wind on his right cheek.
“In oars!” he yelled. “Port-side sail up!”
The clatter of oak on pine rang as the oars came in and the rowers threw them carelessly into the bottom of the boat. Then they were clambering over the benches to reach halyards and sheets and the port-side yard rose to the masthead, clunked home, and the wind filled the sail.
Heron
heeled sharply to port as they tightened the sail. The wind was much stronger now and the gray clouds Hal had seen were closer.
“Ease the sail!” he called and Stig and his sail handlers obeyed. As the pressure on the sail was reduced,
Heron
straightened up and began to fly. The wind was almost directly on their beam—their best point of sailing.
Hal didn’t need his compass to set a bearing. He could see the coast of Skandia to starboard and he could see the sun. Their heading was west and he settled her on it.
She plunged into a trough. Spray flew, there was a momentary sensation of her speed checking, then she shook herself free and swooped up the face of the next wave, bursting through in a shower of spray, a third of her hull momentarily out of the water before she sliced back down and then repeated the process.
To port, he could see that
Porpoise
had her sail set. She was a fast sailer with the wind on her beam too. But
Heron
was faster and she was losing less distance downwind. As the small ship crept past her larger rival, the
Heron
’s crew cheered and yelled insults across the water. But the space between them was widening as their courses slowly diverged, with the
Porpoise
going downwind faster.
For the first time since he had sighted the
Porpoise
entering the bay, Hal breathed easily, leaning on the tiller with relief. Stig climbed up from the rowing benches and they slapped each other’s shoulders in congratulation. Stig glanced across the racing waves at the other ship, moving farther downwind by the minute.
“She can’t beat us now,” he said delightedly. Hal raised a cautionary finger. It never did to boast too soon, he believed.
“Touch wood,” he said, and rapped the tiller bar of the steering oar.
Stig grinned. “Touch wood indeed,” he replied, and leaned over to rap his knuckles gently on Hal’s head.
A gust of stronger wind hit them then, laying
Heron
over so that water sluiced in over the port gunwale. Stig filled his lungs to bellow an order, but already the twins were busy, bailing the water out. He glanced up at the clouds, which were rolling in upon them, racing in from the northwest.
“Wind’s getting up,” he said.
A slightly worried frown creased Hal’s forehead.
“We should be all right,” he said. “It’s a straight run up the coast, then we’ll turn to make harbor. We’ll be in shelter by the time it really starts to blow.”
“Touch wood,” Stig said and Hal nodded.
“Touch wood.”
The graceful, curving spar that held the sail suddenly creaked ominously. Two pairs of eyes shot to it.
“Is that yardarm bending more than usual?” Stig asked.
Hal shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, without a lot of conviction. He sensed a movement from the direction of the lee rail and realized Gort had stepped closer. He too was staring up at the spar, watching how it curved under the pressure of the wind. Another strong gust and another groan.
“You don’t think that yard is a little light, do you?” he said. “Seems to be bending a lot.”
Hal pursed his lips. “It’s fine,” he said shortly.
“Maybe you should reduce sail—take in a reef or two?” Gort suggested. Hal glanced quickly at him, then looked away.
“I haven’t gotten round to putting in the reef points yet,” he said.
Gort raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t?”
Hal felt Stig’s eyes on him as his first mate answered the question.
“It was just a small detail that he overlooked,” he said. Hal glared at him.
“Maybe we should let the sail out a little,” he suggested.
Stig, still eyeing the yardarm apprehensively, yelled orders to the sail handlers to let out the ropes restraining the big sail. Hal felt the boat’s speed drop as they did so. He looked anxiously to port, searching for the
Porpoise.
Even with their speed reduced, they were still gaining distance on her. They soared onto a wave crest and the wind, which had been masked for a few minutes, hit them even harder than before.
And, with a splintering crack, the port yardarm snapped in two.
chapter
forty
T
here was instant confusion aboard the
Heron
as the crew amidships scrambled to get clear.
The yard, snapped in the middle, hung drunkenly from the mast, held together only by the sail. The sail, only seconds ago a graceful, powerful curve, collapsed in untidy shambles. The ropes of the sheets and braces that controlled the sail and yard snaked down in tangles to the deck.
With the sudden loss of power,
Heron
flew up, head to wind, rocking dangerously on the swell that surged under her.
Everyone was yelling at once. Nobody was listening to anybody else. Ingvar, seated on his bench still, looked around myopically, repeatedly asking, “What happened?”
Nobody seemed in a mood to answer him.
“Quiet!” Hal yelled at the panicking crew. He tried again but his voice was drowned by their excited yelling. He looked to Stig and made a hopeless gesture with his hands:
See if you can do any better.
Stig could. He leapt up onto the bulwark, steadying himself with one of the shrouds supporting the mast.
“SHUT UP!” he roared and the crew fell silent immediately. They all looked at him. “Just settle down while we work out what to do,” he told them. He turned to Hal. “Your orders, skirl?”
Hal gestured at the sagging yard and tangle of sail and ropes.
“Get the yard down and stow the sail out of the way,” he said. He was grateful that the mast hadn’t been damaged, and that the snapped yardarm and collapsed sail hadn’t gone over the side. The Herons, with something definite to focus on, moved quickly to follow his orders. Once the snapped yard was lowered and the sail bundled untidily at the base of the mast, Stig looked to him for further orders.
“Out oars?” he suggested. Hal hesitated. He looked to port.
Porpoise
was just visible. She was still behind them and farther out to sea. He came to a decision.
“No. Hoist the starboard sail,” he said.
Stig stared at him. “The
starboard
sail?” he echoed. “But the wind is from the starboard. The sail will simply blow back against the mast! It won’t fill properly!”
Hal nodded. “I know. It will lose a lot of its shape and power. But the wind is strong and we should be able to keep moving, even with the sail half collapsed. It’ll be slow, but it’ll be better than nothing.”
Stig shook his head. “If you say so,” he said and ran forward to supervise the crew as they raised the starboard sail.
The wind took it instantly and Hal felt
Heron
’s bow swing away to port. He steadied the ship on course, and as Stig had predicted, the sail blew back against the mast, flapping and fluttering. He signaled to the crew to haul in as tight as possible. Slowly, awkwardly, as they brought the severely reduced sail under control,
Heron
began to move. Hal wrestled the steering oar to keep her on course. The inefficient sail shape made her difficult to handle. But after a few minutes, he had the hang of it.
She limped along at a vastly reduced rate. Still, he thought, they’d make better time than if they had to row her. He continually looked astern at the
Porpoise.
She was downwind, but she was gradually making up the distance between them.
“She’s gaining,” Stig said.
“Not fast enough. We’ll have her when we come about for the harbor mouth.”
“Maybe,” Stig said.
Hal grinned tiredly. “Touch wood,” he said.
Stig rolled his eyes. Last time Hal had said that, the yard had split.
In spite of his assurance to Stig, Hal continued to watch the other ship anxiously as the
Heron
dragged herself along, parallel to the coast.
At least we don’t have to worry about reefing this sail, he thought wryly. There wasn’t enough power in the deformed shape to put excessive pressure on the mast or yard.
Gort had joined the two friends by the steering oar. Like them, he felt the anxiety that came from watching the
Porpoise
gradually creeping level with them. She was picking up distance laterally, but she was still a long way downwind. When the time came for
Heron
to go about, it would be a race to see if the
Porpoise
could make up that distance before
Heron
reached port.
Off to starboard, they could see the houses of Hallasholm now. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, to be almost instantly whipped away by the steadily freshening wind.
“Now?” Stig asked anxiously.
But Hal shook his head. The wind was almost directly offshore.
“We’ll be straight into the wind and we can’t tack from side to side. I want to go past so I have room to angle back in one run. Let’s just hope we can sail a lot faster than Tursgud’s crew can row into the wind.”
They all knew that as soon as the
Porpoise
was directly off the harbor mouth, Tursgud would turn into the wind and row for the finish line—and they’d have the shorter distance to cover. Gort went to say something, then realized that he should keep quiet. It was going to be too close to call, he thought.
“
Porpoise
is turning!”
It was Wulf, who was standing on the port bulwark to get a better view. They all looked and saw the other ship coming up into the wind, her sail disappearing as her crew released the sheets and halyards and lowered the cross yard. Then those twin banks of oars appeared as they ran out from either side of the
Porpoise
’s hull. Ominously, they began their rhythmic rising and falling.
“Now?” said Stig. He was hopping from one foot to the other with anxiety. He had no idea he was doing it.
Hal narrowed his eyes, measuring angles. “Not yet. We need more room. But get ready.”
Stig nodded and moved into the waist of the ship, speaking to the crew, exhorting them to move at lightning speed when Hal gave the word to come about. He looked up at Wulf, still on the bulwark.
“Where are they?” he asked.
Wulf shaded his eyes and frowned. “They’re coming in fast,” he said. The strain was evident in his voice.
Stig looked pleadingly at Hal but his friend shook his head. They needed more room before they doubled back. He had to do it in one tack. If he miscalculated, they’d have no time to turn and crab back for another go. Tursgud would beat them.
Slowly, he raised his left arm from the steering oar, frowning in concentration as he measured the angle back to the harbor, pictured
Heron
flying in with the wind on her beam. A little more.
A little more. He was saying the words aloud. Like Stig with his dancing from one foot to another, he was unaware of the fact.
“Now!” he shouted, and threw his weight on the steering oar, heaving the bow round to starboard.
The reduced speed made her sluggish and for a moment he feared they would hang in the eye of the wind and be blown backward. Then he heard a
whoomphing
sound as the sail filled and the bow came round, moving faster and faster as the ship accelerated.
“Haul in!” he yelled but there was no need. Stig and the sail handlers had the sail, now on the proper tack and blowing clear of the mast, hauled in as tight as it would bear.
Heron
slashed through the water, spray from the heavy cross swell bursting over her port bow as she shouldered her way through the rollers.