was likely to offer. The huge oaf, his constantly moist lips glistening in the lantern-light, peered into their faces, his foetid breath causing more than one of them to cough. ‘You’ll all have to do, won’t you?’ he sneered.
He pushed them to the ladder, and they climbed into the blinding sunlight. The storm had passed and a stiff breeze was filling the large sail. An older warrior walked over to the little group as they stood, squinting and shivering. He looked them over and stared at Boar with piercing blue eyes.
‘This the best you could do?’ he asked. Brann recognised from his voice that he was the one the Captain had called ‘Cannick’. He had seemed to be the second in command on the ship, and close to the Captain.
Boar nodded. ‘Just what the Captain wanted. Can’t bring better than I’ve got, can I?’
Cannick turned away from him. ‘That you can’t, Boar, that you can’t.’ He examined the group again. ‘Anyway, they are not your concern now.’ Noticing Boar’s glower at the edge of his vision, he added, ‘Do not worry, we should be filling the gaps for you soon enough. We may as well make use of the room in the hold and, more importantly, we need to fill our quota so we can be rid of this contract as soon as we can.’
Boar grunted something unintelligible – and probably obscene – and stomped off. Cannick stared again at the little group.
‘As you may have heard,’ he growled, ‘we had to deal with a little incident. What you will not know, however, is that we are short of seven rowers as a result. Those of you who can manage to count further than the limits of one hand will have noticed that there are seven of you. Work out for yourselves what happens next.’ He grinned. ‘Your pleasure cruise is over, boys. Now you start working for your crust – at least, until we can pick up some others more physically suited to the task. And, rest assured, you will work.
‘As you can see, there are three rowers to a bench. You will be put, mostly, in pairs with an experienced rower as the third member of the bench. The final one of the seven will, obviously, be with two existing rowers, but do not think that equates to an easy ride – you will just have two people to nag you rather than one.
‘Now, I know some of you will be looking at the condition of the men already there, and at the state of yourselves, and noticing a little difference. You may be feeling a little puny. There is a good reason for feeling that way: you are.’ They were indeed feeling more than a little inadequate compared with the lean, muscled men who were taking the chance to rest while the repaired sail did their work for them.
Cannick continued, ‘You may also be wondering at the wisdom of putting two of you with just one rower. Why not put two existing men to one new one to maximise the pulling power on each oar? It is simple: it would be too easy then for the one of you to let the two other men do all the work. Even if you were trying, you wouldn’t be trying as hard as you would if you felt that your efforts, or lack of them, would always be evident. If you pull your weight, however, it will not only help the ship, but it will help you, for you will develop physically more quickly. And do not worry about whether you are strong enough to cope. Rowing is more about technique and stamina than brute strength; keep pushing yourselves, and you will be surprised how long you can keep going. And it will get easier, believe me. You will pick up the technique quickly enough – it is not complicated.’ He paused, a mischievous glint developing in his eyes. ‘Oh, and do not worry yourselves about the crew coming down too hard on you if you are not trying hard enough. We will not need to. Your fellow rowers will let you know soon enough. I advise you not to let them down.’
He gestured one of the warriors forward. ‘Galen will allocate you to a bench. Pay attention to what he tells you, and listen to the rower you are placed with. It is the easiest way to learn, so take the chance.’
With that, he wheeled away to attend to some other matter. Galen looked them over and slowly shook his head.
‘I understand what Cannick was saying,’ he said. ‘But I do not share his confidence that putting two of you with only one rower is wise.’ He sighed. ‘But I suppose we have to fill the spaces, and cleverer men than me have decided how it is to be done. It is up to you to prove them right and me wrong. Let’s go.’
He started to lead them off, but spun back as a thought occurred to him. The group bunched up at the sudden stop, and he took the chance to lean in close and speak quietly. ‘One other thing, and I will tell you of it before we get into earshot of the rowers. What Cannick said about your effort was right. He has more experience than the rest of us combined, and he has seen more… let’s just say, “incidents” than he probably has cause to remember.’
He nodded towards the rowers. ‘These are hard men living a hard life. Just do not mess with them. Keep in mind that accidents happen at sea, and that you do not want to be one of them.’
He started off again and the seven, who had grown ever more nervous with each instruction or word of advice, followed him towards the front of the vessel. Brann watched the tall warrior, moving with a grace and assured balance that was unusual for a man of his size. It was strange: he did not like Galen – how could he? – but at least the man was fair to them and, whatever the reason for it, he seemed to care about their health and well-being. So did Cannick and the Captain; in fact, Boar, who most closely fitted any preconception that he might have had of slavers, seemed to be an exception on this ship. But what surprised him was that he did not hate them. They had murdered his family, destroyed his home, turned him into a galley slave and were intending to sell him in a slave market. On top of that, they were slavers: people who were abhorrent to normal folk. Yet, try as he might, he could not make himself hate them.
Why? Maybe he had nothing left in his life, and he was clinging to any crumb of kindness that fell his way. Or maybe I’m going mad, he thought with a smile.
Galen had noticed the smile. ‘I see you still have spirit, boy,’ he said. ‘Either that, or you are monumentally stupid. Either way, make the most of that smile. You are not likely to have the energy for another one for a while.’
They had stopped at the front of the ship. A group of warriors was waiting there, and one of them had started unlocking rowers from their chains at the boys’ approach.
The men and boys were quickly rearranged over the front benches on each side of the aisle according to Cannick’s instructions. Brann noticed that two of the benches looked new. It would have been there that the missile had struck, and he shuddered at the thought.
As they were assigned their positions, Brann realised that, while the warriors around them appeared to be lounging casually, their hands never strayed from their weapons and their eyes were watchful. The crew and slaves may have an understanding, but these were men who took no chances. They appeared more like professional soldiers than the lowlife vermin that he would have expected slavers to be.
Brann stayed close to Gerens, in the hope that he would be paired with the closest thing to a friend that he had at the moment. It worked. Galen pointed to the pair of them, ordering curtly, ‘First two, in here. New boys nearest the side, rower nearest the aisle. That way, the one at the end who effectively controls the oar will be the one who knows what he is doing. That does not mean you boys can catch an easy ride – those who do not share the burden will soon be reminded of the need to do so by those around them.’
This was the third time that the boys had heard this last piece of advice, but Brann guessed that, on this occasion, it was being said for the rowers’ benefit. He felt glad that the grim men he was sitting among knew that the boys had been warned, so they would not feel the need to inform the newcomers of the fact in their own fashion.
Brann and Gerens were placed with a lean, bald rower with staring eyes and swirling tattoos painting symbols and unfamiliar script across most of the exposed parts of his body, including his scalp. His smooth skin and lean build made it hard to determine his age, but Brann guessed he was at least old enough to be his father. Brann found himself wondering if he had pointed teeth and spoke in a hiss. He just seemed the sort.
The tattooed man stared at the boys appraisingly – something that was becoming familiar,