before they rounded the sheltering hedge of rocks and he could strike out for the flat rock in the cove behind them. With his last strength, he managed to shove Stig up onto the rock, assisted by the gentle surge of a small incoming wave. Then he clambered up after him, dragging himself painfully on his belly and knees over the rough, barnacle-crusted rock, and fell exhausted beside him.
“Don’t tell anyone what I was doing,” Stig said anxiously.
It was an hour later. They were squelching their way back to Hallasholm, having recovered their strength—as well as Hal’s outer clothes and Stig’s rope from the cliff top. Hal’s shirt, of course, remained at the base of the cliff and neither of them had the energy to retrieve it.
Hal looked at him quizzically. “I wasn’t planning to,” he said. “But it’s not such a big thing. Everyone poaches lobsters from time to time. I’ve done it myself.”
“Everyone doesn’t have a father who was a thief,” Stig replied heavily. “I know what they’ll say. Like father, like son. Anytime I do anything wrong, people can’t wait to point out that my father was a thief.”
“But that doesn’t mean you are,” Hal said. “If that were true, people would say I’m a hero like my dad was. But they don’t.”
Now it was Stig’s turn to study his companion for a few seconds.
“They’ll change their tune when I tell them you rescued me,” he said, then added hurriedly, “We don’t have to say anything about the lobster trap, of course. We can just say I was fishing and fell in and you came in after me and …”
He stopped. Hal was already shaking his head.
“Let’s not talk about it at all,” he said. “If you tell people I saved you, it’ll just annoy Tursgud and he’ll come after me and make my life a misery. Besides, it was nothing special. Anyone would have done what I did.”
“I wouldn’t,” Stig said emphatically. Then he added, with a grin, “I couldn’t have, anyway.”
Eventually, they decided to say nothing at all. But it was noticeable that over the ensuing weeks, the two boys began to spend more time together, and a genuine bond grew between them.
As a result, Stig’s wild, erratic behavior and bouts of temper grew less frequent. The fact that he had a friend and companion who didn’t prejudge him because of his father’s misdeeds seemed to mellow him. But his reputation was already established and that tended to stick, even if he did calm down considerably.
Neither boy ever intended to speak about the events at the cliff that day. But of course their mothers eventually worked the truth out of them.
Mothers always do.
PART 2
THE HERON
chapter five
B earclaw Creek began as a mere trickle, forcing its way out between a jumble of rocks in the high country above the coast. It joined with a dozen similar rivulets as it wound down the mountains and eventually widened into a respectable body of water as it came closer to the sea.
In the final stretch of its journey, the creek crossed a small meadow a few hundred meters outside the town limits of Hallasholm. At this point, there was evidence of a considerable amount of recent activity. Offcuts of wood and cordage littered the ground. There were work trestles and benches and a tarpaulin shelter had been rigged to provide protection during wet weather. The smell of sawdust and sawn timber permeated the air. A small, ramshackle jetty stood on the bank of the creek close by the work site.
The Heron was moored alongside this jetty, her mooring lines creaking gently as they stretched then slackened with the movement of the water.
She was a sleek craft, some fifteen meters long—or about half the length of a standard wolfship. She was pierced on each side for four oars, whereas the newer wolfships could carry ten oars a side. Even moored alongside the small jetty that led out from the bank, she gave the impression of speed.
She was Hal’s boat, and the result of an enormous
“Don’t tell anyone what I was doing,” Stig said anxiously.
It was an hour later. They were squelching their way back to Hallasholm, having recovered their strength—as well as Hal’s outer clothes and Stig’s rope from the cliff top. Hal’s shirt, of course, remained at the base of the cliff and neither of them had the energy to retrieve it.
Hal looked at him quizzically. “I wasn’t planning to,” he said. “But it’s not such a big thing. Everyone poaches lobsters from time to time. I’ve done it myself.”
“Everyone doesn’t have a father who was a thief,” Stig replied heavily. “I know what they’ll say. Like father, like son. Anytime I do anything wrong, people can’t wait to point out that my father was a thief.”
“But that doesn’t mean you are,” Hal said. “If that were true, people would say I’m a hero like my dad was. But they don’t.”
Now it was Stig’s turn to study his companion for a few seconds.
“They’ll change their tune when I tell them you rescued me,” he said, then added hurriedly, “We don’t have to say anything about the lobster trap, of course. We can just say I was fishing and fell in and you came in after me and …”
He stopped. Hal was already shaking his head.
“Let’s not talk about it at all,” he said. “If you tell people I saved you, it’ll just annoy Tursgud and he’ll come after me and make my life a misery. Besides, it was nothing special. Anyone would have done what I did.”
“I wouldn’t,” Stig said emphatically. Then he added, with a grin, “I couldn’t have, anyway.”
Eventually, they decided to say nothing at all. But it was noticeable that over the ensuing weeks, the two boys began to spend more time together, and a genuine bond grew between them.
As a result, Stig’s wild, erratic behavior and bouts of temper grew less frequent. The fact that he had a friend and companion who didn’t prejudge him because of his father’s misdeeds seemed to mellow him. But his reputation was already established and that tended to stick, even if he did calm down considerably.
Neither boy ever intended to speak about the events at the cliff that day. But of course their mothers eventually worked the truth out of them.
Mothers always do.
PART 2
THE HERON
chapter five
B earclaw Creek began as a mere trickle, forcing its way out between a jumble of rocks in the high country above the coast. It joined with a dozen similar rivulets as it wound down the mountains and eventually widened into a respectable body of water as it came closer to the sea.
In the final stretch of its journey, the creek crossed a small meadow a few hundred meters outside the town limits of Hallasholm. At this point, there was evidence of a considerable amount of recent activity. Offcuts of wood and cordage littered the ground. There were work trestles and benches and a tarpaulin shelter had been rigged to provide protection during wet weather. The smell of sawdust and sawn timber permeated the air. A small, ramshackle jetty stood on the bank of the creek close by the work site.
The Heron was moored alongside this jetty, her mooring lines creaking gently as they stretched then slackened with the movement of the water.
She was a sleek craft, some fifteen meters long—or about half the length of a standard wolfship. She was pierced on each side for four oars, whereas the newer wolfships could carry ten oars a side. Even moored alongside the small jetty that led out from the bank, she gave the impression of speed.
She was Hal’s boat, and the result of an enormous
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