In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers Page 13

  He lay there, recovering his strength, until he heard Jonah, breathing hard, grunting as he neared the top of the rope. Conall leapt up and helped pull the first mate the final few feet towards the railing. He grabbed Jonah’s arm and dragged him over.

  The two men sat on the wooden deck, gasping for breath.

  “Looks neat enough,” Jonah said. “Sails are stowed, all set right.”

  “How do we move her? We can’t get her under sail, not two of us.”

  “Sails are no use on these rocks in any case,” Jonah said. The metal hull groaned with pain as if in agreement. “There’s only one hope of moving her. Follow me.”

  Jonah led the way down the ladders towards the hold. The barrels of diesel were gone, but Jonah inspected the engine. “Enough fuel to start her up but it won’t go far. We do what we can.” Jonah tinkered with the engine, testing the fuel levels. “Enough to get her off these rocks, I reckon. Best make a start, before she breaks apart.”

  He tried to start the engine. Argent cursed and tried again, adjusting and testing and checking and cleaning, expert hands flying over the metal parts. Still nothing. “One last thing to try,” he said. Conall looked away, said a prayer, as the first mate swore at the engine, ordering it to co-operate.

  A chug, dying, reviving, kicking into life. Then the familiar put-put-put of the diesel engine filled the hold. They ran for the poop deck. Jonah engaged the screw and the ship leant forward, metal groaning against rock as he backed The Arkady off from the reef. Conall stared into the waters below, hands gripping the rails, willing the ship to cling to life, to make it off the rocks without ripping a hole in her hull. But the sea crashed at them, pushing them back onto the reef.

  “She’s a high tide,” Jonah yelled, “Made even higher by the storm winds.”

  A shriek filled the air, a metallic howl. Conall clung to the rail, leaning out over the side of the ship. A tear in the hull, six feet long at the water line, meant they could never save her. If they took her out into the bay, she’d sink sure enough. “She’s holed.”

  Jonah leant over the rail to look.

  “What can we do?”

  “There’s nothing for it.” Jonah pointed to the far side of the bay, away from the rocky reef, to where a beach of red sand and small stones met the sea. “No other way to save her now,” he shouted. As Jonah moved the ship off the rocks, the metal of the hull screeched in protest.

  Conall felt the ship lurch and lean as water rushed in. “The engine, the water will flood the hold.”

  Jonah said nothing, his expression set hard. He had The Arkady moving forward, heading towards the beach. It was a short enough run that they might make it before she sank. But too short to pick up speed. They needed to get her up the beach.

  Jonah set the screw running flat out. The front of the hull ran aground, but the sound of the engine spluttered and died. She was flooded or out of fuel. A huge wave lifted the ship and she surged forward once more. She settled onto the sand with a groan, as if she’d given up on life, listing to one side. Conall leaned over. The rip in her side was above the water. “She’s clear,” he shouted.

  Jonah leant over to inspect. “We’re not done yet,” he yelled. “Waves might lift her. The anchor.” He leapt down the steps to the main deck, Conall in pursuit. They headed for the foredeck and the anchor boom. Jonah shouted instructions, Conall working to command. They lowered the anchor, found ropes which they tied to attachment points around the ship and threw them onto the beach. They lowered a rope ladder, scrambled down and dragged the ropes up the foreshore until they reached huge rocks at the base of the cliff. They secured the ropes to the rocks, then together hauled on the anchor, dragging her as far up the beach as they could before their strength gave out.

  They collapsed onto the stony, red sand and sat, staring at the ship.

  “Is she safe here?”

  “For now. There won’t be a tide so high for a month or more, I’d guess. But who knows what a storm might do.”

  “Can we ever float her?”

  “She needs mending first. One day, maybe, but she’ll need a crew and captain first. It’s beyond the two of us, Mr Hawkins.”

  The sat on the sand for the best part of an hour recovering their strength, the sun low in the sky.

  “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

  “No boy,” Jonah said. “Those watches on The Angela got you all confused. It’s late, for sure, but there’ll be no darkness. Not today, not for many days.”

  “The midnight sun?”

  “Light to work by, round the clock. A blessing or a curse, I’m not sure which,” Jonah said. “Come on, let’s get aboard her, and see what we can find.”

  Jonah led the way up the steps to the poop deck and headed for the chartroom. “Maps are gone,” he said. “Someone’s taken them, every last one.”

  The room was a mess, log books strewn on the floor, a wooden stool splintered in one corner. Jonah peered at the inside of the door. “Signs of a fight.” He ran his finger across the wood. “Blood, if I’m not mistaken.”

  They took the stairs down from the chartroom to the companionway in the main deck cabins. Jonah headed for the captain’s stateroom. It was worse than the chartroom. Cupboards had been emptied, anything of value taken. Conall examined the captain’s cupboard ruefully. His binoculars were gone.

  “Looks like whoever came here didn’t mean to come back for the ship,” Jonah said. “Reckon it’s clear. Crew were overpowered, taken by surprise I’d say. Whoever it was, they took what they wanted and left.”

  “Who would take charts and not a ship like this?”

  “Hard to say. Maybe they meant to come back for her. But the anchor wasn’t down. From the ropes I’d say she was berthed somewhere, broke free in the storm and drifted.”

  They moved through the ship looking for clues. Jonah’s cabin had been searched but under the bed his cane remained. He let out a shout of joy as he saw it. He drew the sword, examined the blade, a grin on his face. “I’d like to find the person who took my crew,” he said. “Who did all this.” He waved the blade in the air as if practicing slicing them open. “Slavers,” he said. “Sure to be. But don’t worry. We’ll find our people and take revenge.”

  Every room they examined appeared ransacked. In the middle deck, the same story. The brig where Faro had been held was empty, the door open. As Conall inspected the lock, he sensed Jonah looking over his shoulder.

  “Tell me boy. The truth.”

  “Opened. From the inside.”

  “Your brother broke free.”

  “But we don’t know why. Maybe they left him here. He was alone.”

  “Where is he now then?”

  Conall looked away. There was no answer. No way to know for sure.

  The crew’s rec room showed signs of fighting, as if someone had staged a last line of resistance here. But there were no bodies, no bullet holes or blood stains.

  “We’ve got to hope they’re alive,” Jonah said grimly. He pushed open the door to the animal quarters. The livestock was gone, along with their feed. “They wouldn’t get the calves off the boat unless at a quayside,” Jonah said. “Same goes for the sow.”

  Conall stared at the empty crates and cages. Everything was gone. Captain’s Hudson’s dream had been shipwrecked, his animals taken, his people too. Had he lost his life? Become a slave? Or been murdered by the wildmen of Svalbard?

  They headed back down into the hold. A foot of water sloshed around the floor. Jonah examined the engine and cursed. “Damned seawater,” he said. “She’ll need days of work, more maybe, and parts too. The engineer could do it, but not the two of us.”

  They made their way back to the poop deck and stood together at the aft of the ship, staring to sea. “We can’t fix her,” Jonah said. “We’ve not got the tools or the know-how. Or the time. Couldn’t sail her in any case just the two of us.”

  “Will she ever sail again? We can’t leave her here to rot.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, she can be mended, but it’s weeks of work to make her seaworthy. Best chance is keep her hidden until we find the captain.”

  “What if someone else finds her? Whoever took the crew might come back,” Conall said.

  “But she’s moved, and it’s not easy searching these bays and inlets. All we can do is hope. But we’ve one thing on our side. We know how to sail her, and there can’t be many that would say the same. Who’d do all that work, on the chance of floating her? That hull will take some mending. The engine needs an overhaul.”

  “So where do we go?”

  “Take the row-boat,” Jonah said, “head along the coast, find out where we are, any news we can.”

  “What if we run into the men who did this?”

  “Then we do. I won’t say there’s no risk. But we’ve a chance of slipping away unseen in a small boat.”

  “We could stay here, live aboard, wait for the crew to return. Captain Hudson will have a plan.” But he knew the idea was foolish. What if they never returned? And there was no fresh water here. No food.

  “Search the boat for supplies, top to bottom,” Jonah said. “Every nook and cranny, every sack in the hold. We need food, ways to store water, and a spare sail for the row-boat. There used to be one stored aft and starboard. Bring what you find up on deck.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for charts, anything that’ll help us know where we are.”

  Conall’s eyes met Jonah’s. The first mate looked away. Conall said nothing, but went off on the errands. They were back on board, and Jonah was in charge, but it didn’t mean Conall would trust him. He knew what Argent intended. He’d ransack the ship from top to bottom, now that he had a free run at it, looking for the captain’s treasure map. If it was hidden well enough to defy Jonah and the engineer all this time, and defeat Faro, then whoever raided The Arkady might have missed it too. Jonah still meant to have the map, and there was no way to stop him.

  Conall searched for supplies as Jonah asked. He found a bag of potatoes and half a sack of flour. Two containers on deck were filled with rain water from the storm. Conall took the flour to the ship’s galley, got the ovens going using the last of the dry wood, and set about making flatbread. He used the flour to make enough bread for four days, packed it carefully and put the supplies into the row-boat. He found old pans, empty wine and beer bottles, and filled them with water. They would weigh down the row-boat, but they’d need several day’s supply, not knowing the land around here or where to find fresh water. They might get blown out to sea. Or be unable to make land for days on end if faced with nothing but steep cliffs.

  He found Jonah in the captain’s stateroom. A concealed cupboard in the wall had been ripped out, the wood splintered. The first mate sat at the table, bent over a sheet of paper, studying it intensely.

  “You found the captain’s treasure map then?”

  Jonah looked up at him.

  “No point leaving it.”

  “You meant to steal it, all along.”

  “Steal is a big word. Desired a look, that’s all.”

  “And you’ll take the treasure too, if you find it.”

  “It’s as much mine as the captain’s. He has no claim on it.”

  “Nor have you.”

  “Nor any man. Not alive at least. Whoever buried it is long dead.”

  “So what is this treasure everyone wants so bad?”

  “No one knows, that’s the thing. It’s a legend, something so valuable, the people of the old world built a place, all the way out here when it was snow and ice and glaciers, hidden away, protected. Priceless, they say.”

  “But you don’t know what? Gold?”

  “Or diamonds.”

  “What if it’s money, old money, useless paper?”

  “Can’t be, why would they put that out here? Go to all that trouble? It’s special, be sure of that. Something they wanted to protect.”

  “And you’re going to take it?”

  “I’ll solve the mystery, young Hawkins, and do the world a favour at the same time. No point leaving it moulding in the ground. Put it to good use, that’s the idea.”

  “You mean waste it on beer and whores across every town in the arctic?”

  “Now that’s unfair. I’ve got big plans, if only I could get started. A ship of my own. Start up the old trade routes. Things are ready for a change, and a canny merchant could make a good living, spread some wealth around, with the right ship.”

  “You mean The Arkady? You want her? If you’re going to steal the map, why not just take the ship?”

  “That would be piracy, young Hawkins, and I’m no pirate. Whatever anyone says, I obey the laws of the sea.”

  “But the treasure’s on land.”

  “And owned by no man. The first to find it, claims it. Nothing wrong in that.”

  Conall leant over Jonah, to see the map. Jonah hid it with his arm, but Conall saw enough. “That’s a map of Spitsbergen, that’s the old town, what’s it called?”

  “Longyearbyen, if you must know.”

  “And the treasure’s there?”

  “Nearby, aye.”

  “But there’s no detail. No ‘ten paces from the tree.’ No ‘dig here.’ It’s just an arrow on a map. The captain could have drawn that.”

  Jonah scowled at Conall. “So you saw. What of it. The captain knows something. Spent years doing his research, so I’ll take my chances, when the time comes. I know it’s buried underground.”

  “But where? How deep?”

  “I’ll find out when I get there. I was hoping for more, I’ll admit.”

  Conall noticed the first mate’s elbow, hiding something. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.”

  Conall grabbed at it. “A second map.”

  “Aye, you need them both.”

  “And what does that show?”

  “Nothing to bother you, young Hawkins. Or are you going after the treasure too?”

  “I’ve as much right as you.”

  Conall pulled at the second map. It showed a headland at the mouth of a fjord, and a hillside. On it was sketched a strange shaped building, thin and tall, angular and awkward. The sketch showed tunnels, dug into the mountainside, and rooms within. “Are those caves? Is that the entrance?”

  Jonah covered the second map, stuffed it into a pocket inside his jacket. “Enough,” he said. “I’m the senior officer on board. And you won’t question me. It’s mutiny to try, you hear.”

  “You steal from the captain, then talk of mutiny.”

  “He’s dead for all we know.”

  “For all you care.”

  “That ain’t fair, Mr Hawkins, that ain’t fair.”

  “But true.”

  Jonah snorted, and Conall realised he was offended. The first mate’s feelings had been hurt. He shook his head. The old rogue had a heart, it was true, and maybe he wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless the fly got in his way.

  He let Jonah take the maps. There was nothing he could do to stop it. But he’d make sure to tell the captain. If they ever found him. If he was alive.

  Conall pointed to the captain’s books, left behind by whoever raided and stripped the ship. “Should we take those?”

  “No use in ‘em,” Jonah said. “Plants and farming and trees and those things his wife studies, but won’t help us none. Leave ‘em there. If he’s alive, if he ever gets back here, his books will be waiting for him.”

  They packed up cooking tools from the galley, fetched a spare canvas from the hold to act as a weather-cover on the boat or a tent on land, and stowed the supplies.

  “That’ll have to do,” Jonah said. “She’s low in the water already. And we’ve had enough shipwrecks for one day.”

  They sat side by side in the centre of the boat, one oar each, and pulled away from The Arkady, heading out of the bay towards the open sea. Before they rounded the headland, they each stopped rowing, no words spoken between them. They took one last look at the sh
ip, beached on the red sand, her masts pointed at the cliffs as if jabbing an indictment at the cold stone that had done for her and left her wrecked and alone.

  They took up their oars once more, Conall straining to match Jonah’s immense strength and so keep the boat straight. “What of Tugon? We should look for him.”

  “He’s alive or not, nothing we can do,” Jonah said. “And if he’s alive, he’s to the south. But we go north.”

  “Towards Longyearbyen?”

  “We have to go somewhere, young Hawkins, and there’s nothing to the south of us but cold rocks and four hundred miles of the Barents Sea.”

  They were alone, the two of them, in an open boat, in a hostile land, but somewhere out there were the crew, the captain. Faro was out there. Rufus and Heather. Conall kept his head down, keeping time with Jonah to make sure the boat held true. He took one more pull on the oars as they slipped around the headland, and the white hull of The Arkady disappeared from sight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  SPITSBERGEN

  Conall kept his hand on the tiller, keeping the boat steady. The sea was calm, the wind had dropped and they looked set for a fair day. The sun, pale through mist to the south, scudded along the horizon but never dipped below it. At the front of the boat, Jonah stirred under the spare canvas. He yawned and stretched. The coastline drifted by, bare rocks, stone and shingle, high cliffs. For mile after mile, Conall saw no trees or grass. No animals grazed or hunted, only seals and seabirds. He stared mournfully at the world of cold rock. “It’s barren. How could Captain Hudson start a farm here? What use are animals, if there’s no grass?”

  “Used to be ice and snow, glaciers year round,” Jonah said. “Nothing but polar bears and walruses, until the warming. The captain says there are places here now where people grow fruit trees. There are farms all right, he’s heard tales. But it’s hard living, for sure. No soil, you see. Have to bring it in, or make it.”

  “How do you make soil?”

  “I wouldn’t know, boy, I’m a man of the sea. But the captain had ideas. He was a good one for a wild scheme.”