The Ring of Five (23 page)

226

ESCAPE FROM TARNSTONE

Starling led him through a maze of small alleys and squares, the houses getting poorer and shabbier. They saw no one, although mangy dogs growled at them from rubbish-strewn backyards. Danny tried to question Starling about where they were going, but he wouldn't answer. Danny noticed the way that Starling moved--light-footed and furtive, making no sudden movements, each step flowing into each other.

Eventually the alleys began to open up, and Danny could smell the sea. There were people on the street, and cooking aromas. The people looked Chinese to Danny, but the language they spoke did not sound Eastern. The men wore caps with tall peaks and earflaps. After a while he and Starling rounded a corner and emerged on a busy shopping street.

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"Wait here," Starling said. He was back within minutes with one of the peaked caps.

"Put that on and keep your head down so that no one sees your eyes. They're not too fond of Cherbs around here."

"Who are these people?"

"Skreens, they're called. They're allowed to trade between Tarnstone and Westwald, which makes them useful. Unfortunately, it means they're watched as well."

Starling's head moved continuously from side to side. Sometimes he stopped Danny and ushered him into an alley while someone passed.

"Not sure about him," he would mutter, or, "Definitely one of Brunholm's."

"Does Master Devoy have any spies in Tarnstone?" Danny asked.

"He does," Starling replied, shooting Danny a look, "and so does the Ring."

He pushed Danny through a door with a sign that read C. D. NAGLE, LICENSED DEALER. They went up a long dark staircase. At the top there was a shabby wooden door. Starling knocked and went in without waiting for an answer. Danny followed.

The room behind the door was tiny and almost filled by a large desk and an enormous leather chair. The desk was covered with bills, receipts, dockets, invoices, statements, bills of lading, checkbooks and every other conceivable form of paper that people used to do business. Behind the desk, on the enormous leather chair, was a tiny man with shrewd black eyes. His head was entirely

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hairless, covered in wrinkled brown skin. He wore an immaculate black pinstripe suit and a miniature bow tie.

"Afternoon," he said tonelessly.

"Afternoon," Starling said, and then without any more formalities, "Cargo."

"Cargo?" Nagle--for Danny assumed it was his name on the sign--replied, with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"To Westwald."

"Westwald. Alive or dead?"

"Alive." Danny wasn't sure he liked the way the conversation was going. He guessed he was the cargo, and he didn't like the "alive or dead" question. Nevertheless, the two men continued the conversation as if he wasn't in the room.

"How much?" Nagle asked. Starling took out the bundle of notes he had taken from Danny, peeled off about half, and handed them to Nagle. Nagle held the money in his outstretched hand, not moving. Starling peeled off two more notes. Evidently satisfied, Nagle folded the money carefully and placed it in a large wallet that he took from an inside pocket. Then, for the first time, he looked at Danny.

"Many people looking for you," he said, "pay good money as well. But Mr. Starling is friend, so I give him discount." Nagle laughed wheezily, then got to his feet. "Come." He beckoned. There was a door behind the chair. Nagle waited by it as Danny and Starling made their way around the desk, then flung the door open.

The contrast with the quiet little office couldn't have

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been more startling. The door opened onto a vast warehouse, piled to the roof with all sorts of goods, from carpets and fridges to oil drums and wine crates. Forklifts whizzed from stack to stack, and burly stevedores bellowed instructions to each other across pulleys and conveyor belts.

Paying no attention to the cacophony, Nagle led them down a steel staircase and across the floor.

"Keep your head down," Starling shouted above the noise. "They're all Nagle's people--but still ..."

Danny did as he was told, following Nagle's feet, which were encased in shiny black patent shoes and moved very quickly, almost twinkling as the little man bustled along.

Gradually the noise subsided. Danny felt a breeze on his face and risked a look up. They were emerging from the warehouse onto a quay. The far end was busy, but here it was much quieter. A flotilla of boats with sails like those of Chinese junks were moored together, and Danny could see that there were whole families complete with babies and dogs on board. Beyond the wooden boats was a rusty battered tramp steamer with two salt-encrusted funnels. Nagle hurried up the gangplank. The captain was standing on the battered bridge--he was a hard-looking man with a scar on his cheek, and a limp. Nagle spoke to him quickly in their language--Skreenese, Danny called it to himself--then came back to them.

"Captain Strank will take you over. You must hide when customs check ship. Ship will drop you in Westwald. After that ..." Nagle shrugged, as if to say it

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was none of his business if Danny wanted to throw his life away.

"Thanks," Danny said.

"No thanks," Nagle said, "business. Finished now." With a brisk nod to Starling he sped down the gangplank and across the wharf, then disappeared into the warehouse. Danny looked at Starling in confusion.

"Yes," Starling said, "I'm coming too. I've got business in Westwald and I knew Nagle would give me a better deal on two."

Danny didn't say anything. He was glad Starling would be with him. He leaned over the rail and saw families having lunch together on the boats in the water below. A wave of loneliness swept over him. In the nearest boat a mother dandled a little boy on her knee. The child saw Danny looking down and clapped his hands and laughed. Danny covered his face with his hands. He was alone and hunted in a strange land, destined for more danger. He felt a brisk clap on his shoulder.

"When was the last time you ate?" Starling asked.

"This morning."

"I'll buy some food off the captain," Starling said, looking at Danny expectantly.

"Oh yes. Here." Danny handed him some coins. Starling went off and came back with a kind of chicken stew and fresh white bread. The stew was heavily spiced, but Danny wolfed it down.

"We have to wait until nightfall," Starling said, and promptly sat back against one of the funnels, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

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It was a long day. The captain and crew ignored Danny and set about loading a cargo of oil drums. The whole afternoon was filled with the clang of drums and the shouts of the crew. Danny was tired, but he could not sleep. Images of his parents drifted into his mind. He pushed them away, closed them off. His mind felt cold and clear. He knew what had to be done. He did not know whether everything he had heard at Wilsons was true. But he did know that Brunholm had killed his parents. He scanned the quayside watchfully, but all he could see were Skreens. He had the feeling he was in a Skreen stronghold, and that everyone around him was loyal to Nagle before anyone else.

When the hold of the ship was almost full, the captain suddenly appeared agitated. Various items were gathered up off the deck and shoved into cubbyholes and hidden openings that appeared on the deck. Starling opened one eye just as the captain approached them. He ushered them quickly to the forward funnel and grabbed a piece of tubing attached to the side of it, and to Danny's surprise, a door appeared--it was a false funnel!

Starling and Danny stepped inside, and the captain slammed the door behind them. It was dark and musty, but light got in between the rusty steel-plate walls. There were objects all around them, mysterious boxes and bales--things that the ship was smuggling, Danny thought.

"Hope we're not in here for the whole journey," Danny said. Starling, who was peering through a crack in the funnel, put his finger to his lips. Danny found another

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crack. When he saw what Starling was looking at, he felt rage well up inside him. Brunholm! The Wilsons instructor stood on deck with a team of men in uniform with white peaked caps.

"Customs inspectors," Starling whispered. But Danny's attention was focused on Brunholm, who was arguing with Captain Strank. With a sweep of his hand, Brunholm ordered the two customs inspectors into action. They began throwing aside tarpaulins, turning water butts on their sides, poking inside lifeboats. Brunholm seemed to be insisting that the hold with the oil drums be searched. When the captain threw up his hands, Brunholm produced a revolver and shot a hole in the side of one of the drums. Heavy dark oil spilled onto the deck. Captain Strank turned pale. He motioned to the inspectors to descend to the hold. Brunholm grinned, showing his white teeth.

Danny realized that Starling was looking at him with curiosity, as if Danny's hatred was visible in his tightly clenched jaw and his fixed stare. Danny ignored him. It was all he could do to stop himself flinging open the door and racing across the deck to tackle Brunholm before the man could bring the revolver to bear. He felt Starling lay a warning hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from Brunholm. Starling's gray eyes fixed on Danny's and held them. Although Starling did not speak, Danny felt as if words passed between them, words that warned him against hatred. A small voice inside him stirred and said that he was still Danny Caulfield, no matter what had happened to his parents, that he was still

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their son and nothing could take that away from him. But he hardened himself against the voice.

He put his eye back to the crack in the steel. Brunholm was still there, but the urge to attack him was gone. Danny's revenge would take time, but it would be thorough. It was not enough to kill Brunholm. The man had to be caught in a web of intrigue first. The revenge had to be savored.

The search took over an hour. It was dark before an angry Brunholm and the customs men left the ship, taking with them some small items of contraband. By the time they were clear a cold wet fog had drifted in over the dock. The captain cast off. Danny stood on his own in the bow as the ship eased away from the wharfside. Harbor lights glowed a dull yellow behind the fog. Dark shapes loomed from the quay. A mournful hoot from the pierhead foghorn was answered by a blast from the ship's own horn, which was swallowed by the wreathing vapors. Oily water lapped softly against the barely moving hull.

And then Danny realized that they were alongside the pier, almost close enough to touch it, so that he leaned out for one moment as if to brush his fingers against the pier wall. But it was too late. The pier dissolved into the fog, and they were on the open sea. Seconds later a breeze parted the fog, and Danny saw in the distance the lights of Westwald. In the dark and damp, all plans seemed futile. Danny had left everything behind. Only the Ring of Five awaited.

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WESTWALD

The crossing was to be longer than Danny had supposed. There were strong currents in the strip of sea, and the steamer had to sail up against the current, then allow the force of it to carry her down. The engines labored, and gouts of black smoke from the rear funnel trailed the ship.

"It will take three to four hours," Starling said. "You might as well get some sleep."

Danny didn't think he would, but he had barely slept the night before in the summerhouse. There was a rough bed in the fake funnel. He thought he would just lie down for a minute to rest. He pulled a filthy blanket over himself with a grimace, and within seconds he was fast asleep.

On through the night the little ship sailed, rising and falling on the choppy swell. As they neared the far shore Starling stood and looked down at Danny for a moment.

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Then he went out and stood in the bow. By the time the first glimmer of dawn appeared in the east, the ship was sailing down the coastline toward Westwald. Starling could not see the shore yet, but he could hear surf growling on the hard shingle beach. After a while he saw a light ahead. He waved to the captain of the steamer and it slowed in the water. A fishing boat came into view, manned by people with hoods pulled over their heads, their faces hidden. Tossing badly in the swell, the boat pulled alongside the steamer. Without a backward glance, Starling slipped lightly over the rail and stepped onto the rolling deck. In minutes the fishing boat had disappeared into the predawn darkness.

The blast of the ship's siren woke Danny. He leapt up in a panic, and raced out on the deck. The ship was on a wide waterway with docks and warehouses to either side. The water was teeming with boats of all sizes trying to make their way up or down the crowded shipping lane. A few hundred meters away, a sinister black patrol boat moved menacingly among the other vessels. The air smelt smoky, and a fine pall of smog hung over the buildings to either side.

Danny tried to remember Spitfire's geography class, which seemed so long ago now. The main harbor should be near. He felt a prickling in the back of his neck. He turned. Just behind him, keeping pace with the boat, was the sinister black craft he had seen moments earlier. The windows were smoked, so he couldn't see inside, but on the top of the wheelhouse two soldiers manned a gun. Danny felt a thrill of fear run down his spine. Cherbs!