Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Have You Got What It Takes to be a Ranger?
Character Profiles
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Sneak Preview
About the Author
Have You Read Them All?
Also by John Flanagan
A Special Q & A with John Flanagan
Copyright
ABOUT THE BOOK
The enemy approaches
Hot on the trail of the Outsiders – a cult that’s been making its way from kingdom to kingdom, conning the innocent out of their valuables – Will and Halt are ambushed by deadly assassins.
Pierced by a poisoned arrow, Will’s mentor is near death.
Now Will must journey day and night in a desperate race against time to find the antidote that will save his mentor’s life.
BOOK 9
HALT’S PERIL
Dedicated to the memory of Miyuki Sakai-Flanagan, so that Konan will always remember what a brave and gentle soul his mother was.
WILL has been a Ranger for several years, having trained with the legendary Ranger Halt. Delivered to Castle Redmont as an orphan, he does not know the true story of his parents. Will is known for his courage and bravery, and has proved himself in countless battles. He is fiercely loyal to Halt and his friends, especially Alyss.
HALT is a renowned member of the Ranger Corps, known for his mysterious ways and his unstoppable nature. Halt is a superb archer and uses a massive longbow. Like all Rangers his skill with the bow is uncanny, deadly accurate, and devastatingly swift. Although he rarely shows his emotions, he thinks of Will as his son.
HORACE is a legendary Knight of the Araluen Court, renowned throughout the Kingdom for his courage, strength and loyalty. Like Will and Alyss, he is an orphan, and grew up in the ward of Castle Redmont. He considers the Ranger Will to be a close friend and deeply respects the senior Ranger Halt, whom he has come to regard as a mentor. He has never been shy around women, but recently one special girl has drawn his gaze.
ALYSS is a former ward mate of Horace and Will. Her beauty, intelligence and calm nature make her a perfect fit for the Diplomatic Service. Under the guidance of the elegant Lady Pauline at Castle Redmont, Alyss has learnt diplomacy and become a Courier, travelling on missions for the Kingdom. Over the years, she has grown very close to Will.
TENNYSON is the leader of a religious cult called the Outsiders. He is well-built but slightly overweight. His deceptive smile hides a vicious temper and deadly greed. His attempt to influence the Kingdom of Clonmel has been thwarted by the Rangers, and he is on the run.
BACARI is a Genovesan assassin and is on the run with Tennyson. He is loyal to no one, an expert fighter and may prove to be more than a match for the skilful Rangers.
BARON AULD is the ruler of Redmont Fief, where Halt is stationed and where Will grew up. Out of generosity, he has a ward for orphans and children whose parents cannot take care of them. He is a very capable knight, a kind and cheerful man, although he feels that his jokes have yet to be truly appreciated.
THERE WAS A raw wind blowing off the small harbour. It carried the salt of the sea with it, and the smell of imminent rain. The lone rider shrugged. Even though it was late summer, it seemed to have been raining constantly over the past week. Perhaps in this country it rained all the time, no matter what the season.
‘Summer and winter, nothing but rain,’ he said quietly to his horse. Not surprisingly, the horse said nothing.
‘Except, of course, when it snows,’ the rider continued. ‘Presumably, that’s so you can tell it’s winter.’ This time, the horse shook its shaggy mane and vibrated its ears, the way horses do. The rider smiled at it. They were old friends.
‘You’re a horse of few words, Tug,’ Will said. Then, on reflection, he decided that most horses probably were. There had been a time, quite recently, when he had wondered about this habit of his – talking to his horse. Then, mentioning it to Halt over the camp fire one night, he’d discovered it was a common trait among Rangers.
‘Of course we talk to them,’ the grizzled Ranger had told him. ‘Our horses show a lot more commonsense than most people. And besides,’ he’d added, a note of seriousness creeping into his voice, ‘we rely on our horses. We trust them and they trust us. Talking to them strengthens the special bond between us.’
Will sniffed the air again. There were other smells apparent now, underlying the salt and the rain. There was the smell of tar. Of new rope. Of dried seaweed. But, strangely, there was one smell missing – a smell he would have expected in any seaport along the eastern coast of Hibernia.
There was no smell of fish. No smell of drying nets.
‘So what do they do here if they don’t fish?’ he mused. Aside from the slow clop of his hooves on the uneven cobbles, echoing from the buildings that lined the narrow street, the horse made no answer. But Will thought he already knew. It was why he was here, after all. Port Cael was a smugglers’ town.
The streets down by the docks were narrow and winding, in contrast to the wide, well-laid out streets of the rest of the town. There was only an occasional lantern outside a building to light the way. The buildings themselves were mostly two-storeyed, with loading doors set on the second floors, and lifting gantries so that bales and barrels could be brought up from carts below. Warehouses, Will guessed, with storage room for the goods that shipowners smuggled in and out of the port.
He was nearly down to the docks themselves now and in the gap that marked the end of the street he could see the outlines of several small ships, moored to the dock and bobbing nervously on the dying efforts of the choppy waves that managed to force their way in through the harbour mouth.
‘Should be around here somewhere,’ he said and then he saw it. A single-storey building at the end of the street, with a low-lying thatched roof sweeping down to just above head height. The walls may have been whitewashed at one time but now they were a dirty smudged grey. A fitful yellow light shone through the small windows along the street-side wall and a sign hung creaking in the wind over the low doorway. A seabird of some kind, crudely rendered.
‘Could be a heron,’ he said. He looked around curiously. The other buildings were all dark and anonymous. Their business was done for the day, whereas in a tavern like the Heron, it was just getting under way.
He dismounted outside the building, absentmindedly patting Tug’s neck as he stood there. The little horse regarded the mean-looking tavern, then rolled an eye at his master.
Are you sure you want to go in there?
For a horse of few words, there were times when Tug could express himself with crystal clarity. Will smiled reassuringly at him.
‘I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy now, you know.’
Tug snorted scornfully. He’d seen the small stableyard beside the inn and he knew he’d be left there. He was always ill at ease when he wasn’t on hand to keep his master out of trouble. Will led him through the sagging gate into the stableyard. There was another horse and a tired old mule tethered there. Will didn’t bother to tether Tug. He knew his horse would stay there until he returned.
‘Wait over there. You’ll be out of the wind,’ he said, gesturing towards the far wall. Tug looked at him again, shook his head and ambled to the spot Will had indicated.
Just yell if you need me. I’ll come running.
For a moment, Will wondered if he were being too fanciful in attributing that thought to his horse. Then he decided not. For a second or two, he entertained an image of Tug bursting through the narrow door into the tavern, shouldering drinkers aside to come to his master’s aid. He grinned at the thought, then closed the stableyard gate, lifting it so that it didn’t drag on the rough cobblestones. Then he moved to the tavern entrance.
Will was by no means a tall person, but even he felt constrained to stoop a little under the low doorsill. As he opened the door, he was hit by a wall of sensations. Heat. The smell of sweat. Smoke. Spilt, stale ale.
As the wind rushed in through the open door, the lanterns flickered and the peat fire in the grate on the far wall suddenly flared with renewed life. He hesitated, getting his bearings. The smoke and the flickering light from the fire made it even harder to see inside than it had been outside in the dark street.
‘Close the door, fool!’ a rough voice bellowed and he stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind him. Immediately, the fire and the lantern light steadied. There was a thick pall of smoke from the fire and dozens of pipes. It hung just above head height, trapped by the low thatched roof. Will wondered if it ever had a chance to disperse or whether it just hung there from one day to the next, growing in intensity with each passing evening. Most of the tavern’s patrons ignored him but a few unfriendly faces turned towards him, assessing the newcomer.
They saw a slim, slightly built figure, wrapped in a dull grey and green cloak, face concealed beneath a large hood. As they watched, he pushed the hood back and they saw his face was surprisingly youthful. Little more than a boy. Then they took stock of the heavy saxe knife at his belt, with a smaller knife mounted above it, and the massive longbow in his left hand. Over his shoulder, they saw the feathered ends of more than a dozen arrows protruding from the quiver at his back.
The stranger might look like a boy, but he carried a man’s weapons. And he did so without any self-consciousness or show, as if he was completely familiar with them.
He looked around the room, nodding to those who had turned to study him. But his gaze passed quickly over them and it was apparent that he offered no threat – and these were men who were well used to gauging potential threats from newcomers. The slight air of tension that had gripped the tavern eased and people went back to their drinking. Will, after a quick inspection of the room, saw no threat to himself and crossed to the rough bar – three heavy, rough-sawn planks laid across two massive casks.
The tavern keeper, a wiry man with a sharp-nosed face, round, prominent ears and a receding hairline that combined to give him a rodent-like look, glanced at him, absentmindedly wiping a tankard with a grubby cloth. Will raised an eyebrow as he looked at it. He’d be willing to bet the cloth was transferring more dirt to the tankard than it was removing.
‘Drink?’ the tavern keeper asked. He set the tankard down on the bar, as if in preparation to filling it with whatever the stranger might order.
‘Not out of that,’ Will said evenly, jerking a thumb at the tankard. Ratface shrugged, shoved it aside and produced another from a rack above the bar.
‘Suit yourself. Ale or ouisgeah?’
Ouisgeah, Will knew, was the strong malt spirit they distilled and drank in Hibernia. In a tavern like this, it might be more suitable for stripping rust than drinking.
‘I’d like coffee,’ he said, noticing the battered pot by the fire at one end of the bar.
‘I’ve got ale or ouisgeah. Take your pick.’ Ratface was becoming more peremptory. Will gestured towards the coffee pot. The tavern keeper shook his head.
‘None made,’ he said. ‘I’m not making a new pot just for you.’
‘But he’s drinking coffee,’ Will said, nodding to one side.
It was inevitable that the tavern keeper should glance that way, to see who he was talking about. The moment his eyes left Will, he felt an iron grip at the front of his shirt collar, twisting it into a knot that choked him and at the same time dragged him forward, off balance, over the bar. The stranger’s eyes were suddenly very close. He no longer looked boyish. The eyes were dark brown, almost black in this dim light, and the tavern keeper read danger there. A lot of danger. He heard a soft whisper of steel and, glancing down past the fist that held him so tightly, he glimpsed the heavy, gleaming blade of the saxe knife as the stranger laid it on the bar between them.
Choking, he glanced around for possible help. But there was nobody else at the bar and none of the customers at the tables had noticed what was going on.
‘Aach … mach co’hee,’ he choked.
The tension on his collar eased and the stranger said softly, ‘What was that?’
‘I’ll … make … coffee,’ he repeated, gasping for breath.
The stranger smiled. It was a pleasant smile but the tavern keeper noticed that it never reached those dark eyes.
‘Then that’s wonderful. I’ll wait here.’ Will released his grip on the tavern keeper’s shirt front, allowing him to slide back over the bar and regain his balance. He tapped the hilt of the saxe knife. ‘Don’t change your mind, will you?’
There was a large kettle by the fire grate, supported on a swivelling iron arm that moved it in and out of the flames. The tavern keeper swung it into the heat now and busied himself with the coffee pot, measuring grounds into it, then pouring the now boiling water over it. The rich smell of coffee filled the air, for a moment supplanting the less pleasant odours that Will had noticed when he entered.
The tavern keeper placed the pot in front of Will, then produced a mug from behind the bar. He swiped at it with his ever-present cloth. Will frowned, wiped it carefully with a corner of his cloak and poured the coffee.
‘I’ll have sugar if you’ve got it,’ he said. ‘Honey if not.’
‘I’ve got sugar.’ The tavern keeper turned away to get the bowl and a brass spoon. When he turned back to the stranger, he started. There was a heavy gold coin gleaming on the bar between them. It represented more than he would make in an evening’s trading and he hesitated to reach for it. After all, that saxe knife was still on the bar close to the stranger’s hand.
‘Two penn’orth for the coffee is all,’ he said carefully.
Will nodded and reached into his purse, selecting two copper coins and dropping them onto the bar. ‘That’s more than fair. You make good coffee,’ he added inconsequentially.
The tavern keeper nodded and swallowed, still unsure. Cautiously, he swept the two copper coins off the bar, watching carefully for any sign of dissent from the enigmatic stranger. For a moment, he felt vaguely ashamed that he had been so overborne by someone so young. But another look at those eyes and the youth’s weapons and he dismissed the thought. He was a tavern keeper. His notion of violence amounted to no more than using a cudgel on the heads of customers so affected by alcohol they could barely stand – and that was usually from behind.
He pocketed the coins and glanced hesitantly at the large gold coin, still winking at him in the lantern light. He coughed. The stranger raised an eyebrow.
‘Was there something?’
Withdrawing his hands behind his back so that there could be no misunderstanding, no thought that he was trying to appropriate the gold piece, the tavern keeper inclined his head towards it several times.
‘The … gold. I’m wondering … is it … for anything at all now?’
The stranger smiled. Again, the smile never reached his eyes.
‘Well, yes it is, as a matter of fact. It’s for information.’
And now the tight feeling in the tavern keeper’s stomach seemed to ease right out of him. This was something he understood, particularly in this neighbourhood. People often paid for information in Port Cael. And usually, they didn’t harm the people who gave it to them.
‘Information, is it?’ he asked, allowing himself a smile. ‘Well, this is the place to ask and I’m your man to be asking. What is it you want to know, your honour?’
‘I want to know whether the Black O’Malley has been in this evening,’ the young man said.
And suddenly, that tight feeling was right back.
‘O’MALLEY, IS IT? And why are you looking for him?’ the tavern keeper asked. Those dark eyes came up to meet his again, boring into them. The message in them was clear. The stranger’s hand moved to cover the gold coin. But for the moment he made no move to pick it up and remove it from the bar.
‘Well now,’ the stranger said quietly, ‘I was wondering whose gold coin this was? Did you put it here, by any chance?’ Before the tavern keeper could reply, he’d continued. ‘No. I don’t recall that happening. As I recall it, I was the one put it here, in return for information. Is that how you see it?’
The tavern keeper cleared his throat nervously. The young man’s voice was calm and low-pitched, but no less menacing for the fact.
‘Yes. That’s right,’ he replied.
The stranger nodded several times, as if considering his answer. ‘And correct me if I’m wrong, but usually the one who’s paying the piper is the one who calls the tune. Or in this case, asks the questions. Would you see it that way too?’
For a second, Will wondered if he wasn’t overdoing the air of quiet menace. Then he discarded the thought. With a person like this, whose life probably centred around informing and double dealing, he needed to assert a level of authority. And the only form of authority this sharp-featured toady would understand would be based on fear. Unless Will managed to dominate him, the tavern keeper was liable to tell him any line of lies that came to mind.
‘Yes, sir. That’s how I see it.’
The ‘sir’ was a good start, Will thought. Respectful, without being too ingratiating. He smiled again.
‘So unless you’d like to match my coin with one of your own, let’s keep it that I’m asking and you’re answering.’
His hand slid away from the gold coin once more, leaving it gleaming dully on the rough surface of the bar.
‘The Black O’Malley. Is he in tonight?’
Ratface allowed his gaze to slide around the tavern, although he already knew the answer. He cleared his throat again. Strange how the presence of this young man seemed to leave it dry.
‘No, sir. Not yet. He’s usually in a little later than this.’
‘Then I’ll wait,’ Will said. He glanced around and his gaze fell on a small table set away from the other patrons. It was in a corner, a suitably unobtrusive spot, and it would be out of the line of vision of anyone entering the tavern.
‘I’ll wait there. When O’Malley arrives, you won’t say anything to him about me. And you won’t look at me. But you’ll tug on your ear three times to let me know he’s here. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir. It is.’
‘Good. Now …’ He picked up the coin and the saxe knife and for a moment the tavern keeper thought he was going to reclaim the money. But he held it on edge and sliced carefully through it, cutting it into two half circles. Two thoughts occurred to the tavern keeper. The gold must be awfully pure to cut so easily. And the knife must be frighteningly sharp to go through it with so little effort.
Will slid one half of the gold piece across the bar.
‘Here’s half now as a gesture of good faith. The other half once you’ve done as I ask.’
The tavern keeper hesitated for a second or so. Then, swallowing nervously, he claimed the mutilated half gold piece.
‘Would you be wanting anything to eat while you wait, sir?’ he asked.
Will replaced the other half of the gold coin in his belt purse, then rubbed his fingers and thumb together. They were lightly coated with grease from their brief contact with the bar top. He looked once more at the filthy cloth over the tavern keeper’s shoulder and shook his head.
‘I don’t think so.’
Will sat, nursing his coffee, as he waited for the man he sought to enter the bar.
When Will had first arrived in Port Cael, he had found a room in an inn some distance from the waterfront, in one of the better-kept areas of the town. The innkeeper was a taciturn man, not given to the sort of gossip that his kind usually indulged in. Gossip was a way of life with innkeepers, Will thought. But this one seemed decidedly atypical. Better section of town or no, he realised, this was still a town that depended largely on smuggling and other forms of illegal trade. People would tend to be close-mouthed around strangers.
Unless a stranger offered gold, as Will did. He’d told the innkeeper that he was looking for a friend. A large man with long grey hair, dressed in a white robe and attended by a group of some twenty followers. There would be two among them who wore purple cloaks and wide-brimmed hats of the same colour. Possibly carrying crossbows.
He’d seen the truth in the innkeeper’s eyes as he described Tennyson and the remaining Genovesan assassins. Tennyson had been here, all right. His pulse lifted a little at the thought that he might still be here. But the innkeeper’s words dashed that hope.
‘They were here,’ he said. ‘But they’re gone.’
Apparently, the man had decided that, if Tennyson had already left Port Cael, there was no harm telling this to the young man asking after him. Will had pursed his lips at the news, allowing the gold coin to tumble end over end across the knuckles of his right hand – a trick he’d spent hours perfecting, to pass the time around countless camp fires. The metal caught the light and gleamed invitingly as it flipped end over end, first in one direction, then the other, drawing the innkeeper’s eyes.
‘Gone where?’
The innkeeper looked back to him. Then he jerked his head in the direction of the harbour. ‘Gone over the sea. Where to, I don’t know.’
‘Any idea who might know?’
The innkeeper had shrugged. ‘Your best bet would be to ask the Black O’Malley. Happen that he might know. When there’s folk looking to leave in a hurry, he’s often the one who’ll accommodate them.’
‘A strange name. How did he come by it?’
‘There was a sea fight some years ago. His ship was boarded. By …’ The man had hesitated briefly, then continued, ‘By pirates. There was a fight and one of them hit him in the face with a flaming torch. The burning pitch of the torch clung to his skin and burned him badly, leaving a black scorch mark on the left side of his face.’
Will had nodded thoughtfully. If there had been any pirates involved in the fight, he was willing to bet that they were sailing in O’Malley’s company. But that was immaterial.
‘And how would I find this O’Malley?’ he’d asked.
‘Most nights, you’ll find him at the Heron tavern, down by the docks.’ The innkeeper had taken the coin and as Will turned away, he’d added:
‘It’s a dangerous place. Might not be a good idea to go there alone – you a stranger as you are. I’ve a couple of large lads do work for me from time to time. Might be they’d be willing to go along with you – for a small fee.’
The young man looked back, considered the suggestion and shook his head, smiling slowly.
‘I think I can look after myself,’ he’d said.
IT HADN’T BEEN any sense of arrogance that led him to refuse the innkeeper’s offer. Walking into a place like the Heron with a couple of part-time, and probably second-rate, bully boys for company would cause nothing but contempt among the genuine hard cases who gathered here. All it would have done was advertise the fact that he was uncertain of himself. Better to be alone and rely on his own skill and wits to see him through.
The tavern had been half full when he’d arrived. It had been too early in the evening for the main trade to begin. But as he waited, it began to fill up. The temperature rose with the growing press of unwashed bodies. So did the sour, stale smell that pervaded the hot, smoke-filled room. The noise level increased, as people raised their voices to be heard over the growing clamour.
The situation suited him. The more people present and the noisier it was, the less chance there was of being noticed. With each new set of arrivals, he glanced at the tavern keeper. But each time, the thin-faced man merely shook his head.
It was somewhere between eleven o’clock and midnight when the door was hurled open and three bulky men entered, shoving their way through the throng to the bar, where the tavern keeper immediately began to pump up three large tankards of ale without a word passing between them. As he filled the second and placed it on the counter, he paused and, eyes down, tugged fiercely on his ear three times. Then he continued pulling the final ale.
Even without the signal, Will would have known that this was the man he was looking for. The large black burn mark on the side of his face, stretching from just below the left eye to the jawline, was obvious from across the room. He waited while O’Malley and his two cohorts picked up their tankards and made their way towards a table close to the peat fire. There were two men already seated there and they looked up anxiously as the smuggler approached.
‘Ah now, O’Malley,’ one of them began in a whining tone, ‘we’ve been sitting here since –’
‘Out.’
O’Malley gestured with his thumb and the two men, without further demurral, picked up their drinks and rose, leaving the table for the three smugglers. They settled into their seats, glanced around the room and called greetings to several acquaintances. Reactions to the newcomers, Will noted, were more guarded than friendly. O’Malley seemed to instil fear in the other patrons.
O’Malley’s gaze touched briefly on the cloaked figure sitting alone in a corner. He studied Will for several seconds, then dismissed him. He inched his chair forward and he and his companions leaned over the table, speaking in low tones, their heads close together.
Will rose from his seat and moved towards them. Passing the bar, he allowed his hand to trail along the surface, leaving the mutilated half gold coin behind as he did so. The tavern keeper hurried to snatch it up. He made no sign of acknowledgement or thanks but Will expected none. The tavern keeper wouldn’t be anxious for anyone to know that he had identified O’Malley to this stranger.
O’Malley became conscious of Will’s presence as he approached the table. The smuggler had been muttering something in a low tone to his two companions and now he stopped, his eyes swivelling sideways to inspect the slim figure standing a metre or so away. There was a long pause.
‘Captain O’Malley?’ Will asked, finally. The man was powerfully built, although not excessively tall. He would have stood a few centimetres taller than Will but then, most people did.
His shoulders were well muscled and his hands were calloused. Together, they showed the signs of a lifetime of hard work, hauling on ropes, heaving cargo aboard, tending a bucking tiller in a gale. His stomach showed signs of a lifetime of hard drinking. He was overweight but still a powerful man and an adversary to be wary of. His black hair hung in ragged curls to his collar and he had grown a beard, possibly in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise the disfiguring mark on his left cheek. His nose had been broken so many times that it now showed no defining shape at all. It was a lump of smashed gristle and bone. Will imagined that O’Malley had trouble breathing through that nose.
His two companions were less interesting specimens. Big bellied, broad shouldered and powerfully built, they were larger and taller than their leader. But he had the unmistakable air of authority about him.
‘Captain O’Malley?’ Will repeated. He smiled easily. O’Malley frowned in return.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said shortly, and turned back to his two companions.
‘I do,’ Will said, still smiling.
O’Malley sat back, looking away for a second or two, then turned his close-set eyes on Will. There was a dangerous light in them.
‘Sonny,’ he said deliberately, the tone condescending and insulting, ‘why don’t you run along now?’
The room around them had gone silent as the drinkers turned to watch this strange confrontation. The young stranger was armed with a powerful longbow, they could all see. But in the confined space of the tavern, it was not the most useful weapon.
‘I’m looking for information,’ Will said. ‘I’m willing to pay for it.’
He touched the purse at his belt and there was a slight musical chinking sound from it. O’Malley’s eyes narrowed. This could be interesting.
‘Information, is it? Well, perhaps we might talk after all. Carew!’ he snapped at a man seated at the next table. ‘Give the boy your stool here.’
It was significant that the man called Carew made no argument. He hurriedly rose and shoved the stool towards Will. His look of resentment he reserved for the young Ranger. He made sure that no sign of it showed to O’Malley.
Will nodded his thanks, received a scowl in return and pulled the stool up to O’Malley’s table.
‘So, information, is it?’ the smuggler began. ‘And what might you be wanting to know?’
‘You gave passage to a man called Tennyson a few days ago,’ Will said. ‘Him and about twenty of his followers.’
‘Did I now?’ O’Malley’s shaggy eyebrows came together in a dark frown of anger. ‘You seem to have a lot of information already, don’t you? And who told you that?’
‘Nobody in this room,’ Will said. Then, before O’Malley could query him further, he went on quickly, ‘I need to know where you took him.’
The smuggler’s eyebrows rose in simulated surprise.
‘Oh, you need to know, do you? And what if I don’t need to tell you? Assuming that I had taken this person anywhere at all – which I didn’t.’
Will allowed a flash of exasperation to show, then realised that this was a mistake. He composed his features but he knew O’Malley had noticed it.
‘I said, I’m willing to pay for the information,’ he said, working to keep his voice level.
‘And would you be willing to pay another gold coin – like the one I saw you slip to Ryan as you came past the bar?’ He glanced angrily at the tavern keeper, who had been an interested observer of their conversation and who now shrank back a little. ‘We’ll be having words about that later, Ryan,’ he added.
Will pursed his lips in surprise. He would have been willing to bet that O’Malley’s attention was engaged elsewhere when he had placed the half coin on the bar.
‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ He allowed a note of admiration to enter his tone. No harm in a little flattery. But O’Malley wasn’t as simple as all that.
‘I don’t miss anything, boy.’ His angry gaze was back on Will now. Don’t try to butter me up with soft words, it said.
Will shifted on his stool. He was losing control of this conversation, he thought. Then he amended that. He had never had control of this conversation. O’Malley had steered it from the first word. All Will had done so far was react to him. He tried again.
‘Well, yes. I’d be willing to pay gold for the information.’
‘I’ve already been paid,’ O’Malley said. At least there was no pretence now that he hadn’t given passage to Tennyson and his followers.
‘Then you’ll be paid twice. That sounds like good business to me,’ Will said reasonably.
‘It does, does it? Well, let me tell you a little about business. For a start, I’d happily slit your throat for that purse you’re carrying. And I have no particular regard for this Tennyson fellow you speak of. If I’d had the chance, I would have killed him and dumped him overboard and no one the wiser. But those purple-cloaked friends of his watched me like a hawk the whole time. I tell you this to point out that trust means nothing to me. Nothing at all.’
‘Then …’ Will began, but the smuggler cut him off with a curt gesture.
‘But here’s what business is about, boy. I took money from that man to get him out of Clonmel. That’s the sort of business I’m in. Now if I take more money from a second party to tell where I took him, and everyone here sees me do it, how long do you think my business will last? People come to me for one reason. I know how to keep my mouth shut.’
He paused. Will sat awkwardly. There was no reasonable answer he could think of.
‘I don’t believe in honesty,’ O’Malley continued. ‘Or trust. Or loyalty. I believe in profit, that’s all. And profit means I know how to keep my mouth shut when it’s necessary.’ Without warning, he glanced around the tavern. Eyes that had been watching with interest turned quickly away.
‘And everyone else in this room had better know the same thing,’ he said, raising his voice.
Will spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. He could see no way to turn this situation around. Abruptly, he found himself wishing that Halt were here. Halt would know what to do, he thought. And with that thought, he felt thoroughly inadequate.
‘Well then, I’ll be on my way.’ He began to rise.
‘Just a minute!’ O’Malley’s hand slapped down on the table between them. ‘You haven’t paid me.’
Will gave a snort of incredulous laughter. ‘Paid you? You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Yes I did. It just wasn’t the answer you were looking for. Now pay me.’
Will looked around the room. Everyone present was watching the exchange and most of them were grinning. O’Malley might be feared and disliked here, but Will was a stranger and they were happy to see him bested. He realised that the smuggler had created this confrontation for the purpose of magnifying his own reputation. It wasn’t so much the money he was interested in, more the opportunity to show everyone else in the tavern that he was cock of the walk. Trying to hide his fury, he reached into his purse and took out another gold piece. This was getting expensive, he thought, and he’d found out nothing worthwhile. He slid the piece across the table. O’Malley gathered it in, tested it with his teeth, and smiled wickedly.
‘Good to do business with you, boy. Now get on out of here.’
Will knew his face was burning with the suppressed fury inside him. He stood abruptly, overturning the stool behind him. From somewhere in the room, there was a low chuckle. Then he turned and shoved his way through the crowd to the door.
As it banged shut behind him, O’Malley leaned forward to his two followers and said quietly, ‘Dennis, Nialls. Bring me back that purse.’
The two heavily built men rose and followed Will to the door. With a shrewd idea what they might be about, the tavern customers cleared a path for them. Some watched reluctantly. They’d planned to go after the young man themselves.
Dennis and Nialls stepped out into the clear, cold night, looking up and down the narrow street to see which way the stranger had gone. They hesitated. There were several mean little alleys that led off the street. The youth could be hiding in one of them.
‘Let’s try …’
Nialls got no further. The air between the two men was split by a vicious hiss as something flashed past Nialls’s nose and thudded into the door frame. The two men jerked apart in shock, then stared in disbelief at the grey-shafted arrow, buried quivering in the wood.
From somewhere up the street, a voice carried to them.
‘One more step and the next arrow will be through your heart.’ There was a slight pause, then the voice continued, with obvious venom, ‘And I’m just angry enough to do it.’
‘Where is he?’ Dennis whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Must be in one of the alleys,’ Nialls answered. The threat of the quivering arrow was unmistakable. But they both knew the danger involved in going back to O’Malley empty-handed.
Without warning, there was another hiss-thud between them. Only this time, Niall’s hand flew to his right ear, where the arrow had nicked him on its way through. Blood ran hotly down his cheek. Suddenly, facing O’Malley seemed like the better alternative.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ he said and they jostled each other to get back through the door, slamming it behind them.
From an alley further up the street, a dark figure emerged. Will figured it would be several minutes before anyone chanced coming back again. He ran soft-footed back to the tavern, retrieved his arrows, then led Tug from the stableyard. Swinging into the saddle, he galloped away. The little horse’s hooves rang on the cobbles, the sound echoing off the buildings lining the street.
Altogether, it had been a very unsatisfying encounter.
HALT AND HORACE crested a small rise and reined in their horses. Less than a kilometre away, Port Cael was spread out before them. White-painted buildings huddled together at the top of a hill, which swept away down to the harbour itself – a man-made breakwater that stretched out into the sea then turned at a right angle to form an L-shaped haven for the small fleet moored inside the walls. From where they sat their horses, the ships could be seen only as a forest of masts, jumbled together and indistinguishable as individual craft.
The houses on the hill were freshly painted and looked neatly kept. Even in the dull sunshine that was breaking through the overcast, they seemed to gleam. Down the hill and closer to the docks, there was a more utilitarian look to the buildings and the predominant colour was a dull grey. Typical of any working port, Halt thought. The more genteel people lived on the hill in their spotless homes. The riffraff gathered by the water.
Still, he was willing to bet that the spotless homes on the hill held their share of villains and unscrupulous traders. The people who lived there weren’t more honest than the others – just more successful.
‘Isn’t that someone we know?’ asked Horace. He pointed to where a cloaked figure sat by the side of the road a few hundred metres away, arms wrapped around his knees. Close by him, a small shaggy horse cropped the grass growing at the edge of the drainage ditch that ran beside the road.
‘So it is,’ Halt replied. ‘And he seems to have brought Will with him.’
Horace glanced quickly at his older companion. He felt his spirits lift with the sally. It wasn’t much of a joke, but it was the first one Halt had made since they had left his brother’s grave at Dun Kilty. The Ranger was never a garrulous companion, but he had been even more taciturn than usual over the past few days. Understandable, thought Horace. After all, he had lost his twin brother. Now, the Ranger seemed prepared to slough off his depression. Possibly it had something to do with the prospect of imminent action, the young knight thought.
‘Looks like he’s lost a guinea and found a farthing,’ Horace said, then added, unnecessarily, ‘Will, I mean.’
Halt turned in his saddle to regard the younger man and raised an eyebrow.
‘I may be almost senile in your eyes, Horace, but there’s no need to explain the blindingly obvious to me. I’d hardly have thought you were referring to Tug.’
‘Sorry, Halt.’ But Horace couldn’t help a smile touching the corner of his mouth. First a joke and now an acerbic reply. That was better than the morose silence that had enshrouded Halt since his brother’s death.
‘Let’s see what’s troubling him,’ Halt said. He made no discernible movement or signal to his horse that Horace could notice, but Abelard immediately moved off at a slow trot. Horace touched his heels to Kicker’s ribs and the battlehorse responded, quickly catching up to the smaller horse and settling beside him.
As they drew near, Will stood, brushing himself off. Tug whinnied a greeting to Abelard and Kicker and the other horses responded in kind.
‘Halt, Horace,’ Will greeted them as they drew rein beside him. ‘I hoped you’d be along today.’
‘We got the message you left for us at Fingle Bay,’ Halt told him, ‘so we pushed on early this morning.’
Fingle Bay had been Tennyson’s original destination. It was a prosperous trading and fishing port some kilometres to the south of Port Cael. The majority of shipowners and captains there were honest men. Port Cael was the home of more shady operations, as Tennyson, and then Will, had discovered.
‘Had any luck?’ Horace asked. While he and Halt had stayed to tidy up things in Dun Kilty, Will had gone ahead to trail Tennyson and discover where he was heading. The young Ranger shrugged now.
‘Some,’ he said. ‘Good and bad, I’m afraid. Tennyson has fled the country, as you thought, Halt.’
Halt nodded. He’d expected as much. ‘Where’d he go?’
Will shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. Halt smiled to himself. He knew that his former apprentice hated to fail at any task Halt set him.
‘That’s the bad news, I’m afraid. I can’t find out. I know who took him. It was a smuggler called the Black O’Malley. But he won’t tell me anything. I’m sorry, Halt,’ he added. His old mentor shrugged.
‘I’m sure you did all you could. Sailors in a place like this can be notoriously close-mouthed. Perhaps I’ll have a talk to him. Where do we find him – this exotically named O’Malley character?’
‘There’s a tavern by the docks. He’s there most evenings.’
‘Then I’ll talk to him tonight,’ Halt said.
Will shrugged. ‘You can try. But he’s a hard case, Halt. I’m not sure you’ll get anything out of him. He’s not interested in money. I tried that.’
‘Well, perhaps he’ll do it out of the goodness of his heart. I’m sure he’ll open up to me,’ Halt said easily. But Horace noticed a quick gleam in his eye. He was right, the prospect of having something to do had reawakened Halt’s spirits. He had a score to settle, and Horace found himself thinking that it didn’t bode well for this Black O’Malley character.
Will still eyed Halt doubtfully, however. ‘You think so?’
Halt smiled at him. ‘People love talking to me,’ he said. ‘I’m an excellent conversationalist and I have a sparkling personality. Ask Horace, I’ve been bending his ear all the way from Dun Kilty, haven’t I?’
Horace nodded confirmation. ‘Talking nonstop all the way, he’s been,’ he said. ‘Be glad to see him turn all that chatter onto someone else.’
Will regarded the two of them balefully. He had hated admitting failure to Halt. Now his two companions seemed to think the whole matter was a joke and he simply wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate it. He tried to think of something crushing to say but nothing came to him. Finally, he swung up into Tug’s saddle and moved out onto the road with them.
‘I’ve got us rooms at an inn in the upper town. It’s quite clean – and reasonably priced,’ he told them. That caught Horace’s attention.
‘What’s the food like?’ he asked.
They stood back a few metres from the end of the alley, concealed in the shadows. From their position, they had a clear view of the entrance to the Heron and they could see customers coming and going, without being seen themselves. So far, there had been no sign of O’Malley and his two friends.
Will shifted restlessly. It was getting close to midnight.
‘They’re late – if they’re coming,’ he said softly. ‘They were here well before this last night.’
‘Maybe they were early last night,’ Horace suggested. Halt said nothing.
‘Why not wait inside, Halt?’ Horace asked. The night was cold and he could feel the damp chill rising through the soles of his boots, into his feet and legs. His calves were beginning to ache. Cold, wet cobblestones, he thought. The worst possible surface to stand around on. He wanted to stamp his feet to get the blood flowing but he knew that any such action would earn a quick reprimand from Halt.
‘I want to surprise them,’ Halt said. ‘If they walk in and see us waiting, the surprise will be lost. If we wait till they’re seated, then go in quickly, we’ll catch them before they have much of a chance to react to us. Plus there’s always the chance that if we’re waiting for them in there, someone will nip out and tell them.’
Horace nodded. It all made sense. He wasn’t big on subtlety himself but he could recognise it in others.
‘And Horace,’ Halt began.
‘Yes, Halt?’
‘If I give you the signal, I’d like you to take care of this smuggler’s two henchmen.’
Horace grinned broadly. It didn’t sound as if Halt expected him to be subtle about that.
‘Fine by me, Halt,’ he said. Then, as a thought struck him, ‘What will the signal be?’
Halt glanced at him. ‘I’ll probably say something like, “Horace”.’
The tall warrior cocked his head to one side.
‘Horace … what?’
‘That’s it,’ Halt told him. ‘Just Horace.’
Horace thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded, as if seeing the logic.
‘Good thinking, Halt. Keep it simple. Sir Rodney says that’s the way to do it.’
‘Anything particular you want me to do?’ Will asked.
‘Watch and learn,’ Halt told him.
Will smiled wryly. He was over his disappointment about his inability to get O’Malley to talk. Now he was strangely eager to see how Halt handled the matter. He had no doubt that Halt would handle it – somehow.
‘That never changes, does it?’ he said.
Halt glanced at him, sensing the change in his mood, the eagerness that had replaced his disappointment.
‘Only a fool thinks he knows everything,’ he said. ‘And you’re no fool.’
Before Will could respond, he gestured towards the narrow street. ‘I think our friends have arrived.’
O’Malley and his two henchmen were making their way up the street from the docks. The three Araluans watched as they entered the tavern, the two bigger men standing aside to let their captain go first. There was a brief hubbub of raised voices as the door opened, spilling light out into the street. Then noise and light were cut off as the door shut again behind them.
Horace started forward but Halt laid a restraining hand on his arm.
‘Give it a minute or two,’ he said. ‘They’ll get their drinks and then clear out anyone who might be sitting at their table. Where is it relative to the door, Will?’ he asked. The young Ranger frowned as he pictured the layout of the room. Halt already knew the answer to his question. He’d quizzed Will earlier in the afternoon. But he wanted to keep the young man’s mind occupied.
‘Inside. Down two steps and half right. About three metres from the door, by the fireplace. Watch your head on the door frame, Horace,’ he added.
He sensed Horace nodding in the shadows. Halt was standing, eyes closed, measuring off the seconds, picturing the scene inside the tavern. Will fidgeted, wanting to get moving. Halt’s low voice came to him.
‘Take it easy. There’s no rush.’
Will took several deep breaths, trying to calm his racing pulse.
‘You know what I want you to do?’ Halt asked him. He’d briefed the two of them that afternoon in the inn. But it never hurt to make sure.
Will swallowed several times. ‘I’ll stay inside the door and keep an eye on the room.’
‘And remember, not so close to the door that you’ll be knocked over if someone comes in unexpectedly,’ Halt reminded him. But there was no need for that reminder. Halt had drawn a graphic picture that afternoon of how awkward it might be if Will were suddenly knocked flat by an eager drinker shoving the door open to get in.
‘Got it,’ Will said. His mouth was a little dry.
‘Horace, you’re clear?’
‘Stay with you. Keep standing when you sit. Watch the two bully boys and if you say, “Horace”, whack them.’
‘Very succinct,’ Halt said. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’ He waited a few more seconds, then stepped out of the shadows.
They crossed the street and Halt jerked the door open. Will felt the wave of heat and noise and light once again, then stepped inside after Halt and moved to the side. He was conscious of a dull thud and a muffled ‘damn!’ from Horace as he forgot to duck under the doorway.
O’Malley, his back to the fire, looked up at the new arrivals. He recognised Will and that distracted him for a few seconds, so that he was too late to react to Halt, striding quickly across the room to pull out a stool at the table and sit facing him.
‘Good evening,’ said the bearded stranger. ‘My name’s Halt and it’s time we had a chat.’
NIALLS AND DENNIS rose to their feet instantly, but O’Malley held up a hand to stop them taking any further action.
‘That’s all right now, boys. Easy does it.’
They didn’t resume their seats, but moved to stand behind him, forming a solid wall of muscle and flesh between him and the fireplace. O’Malley, recovering from his initial surprise, studied the man sitting opposite him.