In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers (17 page)

A wild thought, a desperate hope formed in his mind. He looked down towards Jonah, waved to say he’d go on further, then made his way over rough, loose rocks heading north to get a closer look.
 

Conall had to cut inland to make progress and lost sight of his quarry. He walked for an hour before he saw her again. Three masts, the slender white hull. There was no mistaking her.
The Arkady
, but drifting and helpless, no sails raised, pushed by waves towards a jagged reef. Where were the crew? He was too far off to see if anyone was on board, but surely they would put up sail, get her underway? Drop the anchor at least. He’d have to get to her, but not alone. That was madness. He turned and ran, back towards the bay where he had landed, to fetch
The Arkady’s
first mate. He’d know what to do. Together, they would save her.
 

Panting and breathless, Conall and Jonah ran down the rocky slope to the bay where
The Arkady
drifted. The mournful wail of her steel hull grinding against rocks filled the air, as if a great beast roared in pain.
 

 
Conall pointed to a rope trailing in the water. “There, we climb up.”
 

“That’s a fair scramble, up the side of an unsteady ship,” Jonah said. “You’ll get us both killed, young Hawkins.”
 

“We can’t let her sink. We’ve got to save her.”
 

“Try at least, we owe her that, aye.”
 

“Where’s the crew? She’s abandoned.”
 

“Broke her mooring in the storm I’d say, but that don’t tell us much. If she was at anchor, there’s no way Captain Hudson would leave her deserted. He’s no man of the sea, but he knows better than that. And the crew would alert him, if they could. But where they’ve gone, there’s no knowing.”
 

Jonah feared something, Conall heard it in his voice. But they’d learn nothing standing on the beach. “I’ll go, come back in a row-boat. There’s one still there.” He pointed to the main deck where one of the boats hung from its davit.
 

“No sense risking that boat,” Jonah said, “not so close to the rocks, and the ship moving the whole time. We’ll both swim out, though it’s a shame. I was just getting dry.”
 

They waded into the icy water and struck out for the ship. Conall paced himself to stay alongside Jonah. The first mate was still weak and never a strong swimmer. As they neared
The Arkady
, the ship shifted alarmingly. Conall trod water, weighing up the dangers. Getting to the rope meant swimming between the hull and submerged rocks, exposed only as the waves pulled back, the sea crashing over them, pressing the ship closer.
 

There was nothing for it. He made for the rocks, pulled himself across sharp crags, staggering to his feet. The surface was treacherous and he doubled up to keep his balance as he tottered forward.
 

The rope trailed in the water but there was no way to reach it from the rocks. It had been knotted, every metre or so, making it easy to climb. As if someone had let it down to allow others on board. The ship must have been raided: taken by force.
 

A wave crashed onto the rocks and the ship surged towards him, then stopped, poised. He leapt into the water and thrashed to make headway towards the hull. Conall grasped at the rope, his hands numb with cold. The ship fell away from the rocks. The rope dragged through his fingers, then he reached a knot, took hold and pulled himself up. Get clear of the water, fast, before another wave came. The motion of the ship pulled him through the water and he cracked his shoulder against the steel hull. He scrambled up the rope as best he could, his arms too tired for so much work, his feet feeling for the knots, slipping off them.
 

He made it out of the water. Higher. Get higher. A wave pushed the ship towards the rocks once more. Jonah shouted, urging him to hurry. Conall pulled his legs up as the wave crested and the hull ground against rock. He was clear, by inches, hanging onto life. He had to climb but lacked the strength. Go on, reach the deck, don’t stop. But how would he get Jonah on board? Could the first mate climb that rope, with all his bulk?
 

Conall kept going, forcing himself to think only of the rope and reaching the next knot. His arms screeched with pain, his muscles urging him to give in and make it stop. But he kept going, stubborn as a dog. Finally he grasped the railings, pulled himself over and collapsed onto the deck.
 

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.”
 

“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.”