The Royal Ranger

Forty-four

Maddie awoke just before dawn. She glanced at Will’s bedroll but saw that it was empty. He was still at the cliff, on watch over the cove. She threw off her own blankets, dashed cold water over her face from her canteen and pulled on her boots.

Bumper saw her moving and gave a low rumble of noise. She looked at him and his ears pricked up. He sensed that she was going somewhere and wanted to go with her. She shook her head and put her finger to her lips.

“Not now, boy. And keep silent.”

He shook his mane and lowered his head again, going back to cropping the short grass. She thought he looked a little disappointed, then wondered if she was being fanciful. Could a horse express disappointment, she wondered. Then she dismissed the thought, realising she could be here all day debating it and never get a satisfactory answer.

She strung her bow then donned her belt, heavy with the double scabbard for her saxe and her throwing knife. The weight of the knives was counterbalanced by the pouch of lead shot on her other hip. Finally, she slipped her quiver over her head, adjusting it so that the arrows lay easy to hand over her right shoulder. Then she donned her cape, opening the small flap on the right shoulder that allowed access to the arrows.

She moved to the edge of the copse of trees, paused and sank to one knee while she scanned the ground around her. She did it as Will had taught her: first taking a wide overview, then searching one small part at a time, until she was sure there was nobody in sight.

Staying in a crouch. she planned her path where the scrubby ground cover was highest, and headed for the clifftop, where Will was keeping watch.

She moved slowly and smoothly, placing each foot carefully, testing the ground underfoot before she put her full weight on it. If she felt a twig or a branch, she would carefully move her foot to a clear spot, then proceed.

Speed is the enemy of stealth, Will had told her. You’re better to move slowly and silently than to rush about making noise.

She saw the tall grass moving to her left. The pre-dawn air was still, with no sign of a breeze. Instantly, she froze in place.

Trust the cloak, she thought. That and stay completely still were the two principal mantras of unseen movement in the Ranger Corps.

She didn’t even turn her head, swivelling her eyes instead to focus on the spot where she had seen movement. After some thirty seconds, a large fox slipped out of the long grass and padded away, belly low to the ground, long bushy tail streaming behind him. He hadn’t even noticed her.

“I must be getting better at this,” she said to herself. She wished Will could have seen how the fox was unaware of her presence. She could tell him about it, of course. But that wasn’t the same. It would seem like boasting.

It is boasting, she realised.

When she was forty metres from the cliff edge, she dropped silently to her hands and knees, staying below the tall grass. Even though she knew where Will was keeping watch, she could make out no sign of him. She raised her head to scan the terrain ahead of her. As she did so, she incautiously placed her hand on a clump of stiff, dry grass, causing a slight, rustling snap! as it broke.

She paused. The sound had been so small that she was sure nobody would have noticed it. Then, ten metres away, in the spot where she knew Will was keeping watch, she saw his hand rise briefly above the top of the grass.

He’d heard her. He knew she was coming. And he’d signalled her to let her know.

She crawled forward, careful to make no more unnecessary noises. When she was two metres from Will’s position, she was able to discern the mottled cloak that covered him. He turned and she could see his bearded face in the shadow of his cowl. It was uncanny how still he could remain, she thought. If she hadn’t known to look for the cloak, she would probably never have seen him, even as close as she was.

“Anything happening?” she whispered.

“Aside from you blundering about like a lost elephant?” he asked, in the same low tone.

She nodded, accepting the rebuke. “Aside from that.”

He tilted his head towards the rim of the cliff, a metre or so away from them. “Take a look,” he said. Then he added, unnecessarily, she thought, “Carefully.”

She checked the direction of the sun. It was low and out to sea and a little to her left. She pulled her cowl forward to make sure her face was well in its shadow, then inched toward the cliff edge. Keeping her head below the level of the surrounding grass, she carefully parted several strands and peered through.

There was a ship on the beach.

She was about fifteen metres long, lean and narrow waisted. She was built for speed, Maddie thought. The hull was painted a dull black. She was built to be unobtrusive as well, she added mentally. She was pierced for six oars, three on either side. The square sail was loosely furled on the yardarm. From what she could see, it was made of black canvas.

Behind the mast, in the centre of the deck, was a wooden cage. It stretched back for about a third of the ship’s length, ending a few metres from the steering platform.

Will had edged up beside her, moving so silently that she had no idea he was there until she saw him in her peripheral vision.

“See the cage?” he said softly. “That’s where they’ll keep the slaves. There’ll be iron rings and shackles in there to keep them secured.”

“When did she arrive?” Maddie asked.

“About two hours ago. She came in on the making tide. It’s starting to ebb now.”

She noticed that the ship was canted slightly one side, as there was insufficient water under her to float her. The water was receding fast and already the bow was high and dry on the sand.

“We’ll need to get a move on if we want to stop her,” she said, but Will shook his head.

“She’ll need high tide to go out again, and that’s not due until six or seven hours after noon. She’ll go out on the ebbing tide once there’s enough water to float her. And she’ll wait until it’s dark, just in case there are any ships patrolling.”

Even as they were speaking, Maddie noticed, the water had receded to the last oar port on the black hull.

“How many in the crew?” she asked.

“Seven. Six rowing and one helmsman. They’re in the mess tent.”

She changed the direction of her gaze. Up until now, her attention had been totally distracted by the ship.

“You should have noticed that yourself,” Will admonished her gently.

She bit her lip. He had taught her when she was viewing a scene to scan the entire area first, and to avoid focusing on any one object. Now, the first time it mattered, she had neglected to make an all-round sweep of the beach, concentrating instead on the black ship. The mess tent was the open-sided shelter on the beach. She studied it and could see the legs of a number of men sitting at the rough table. Their upper bodies were obscured by the canvas roof. She could hear a low murmur of voices, and occasional laughter. The cook fire was alight, and a column of smoke spiralled lazily into the air.

She frowned. I’m going to have to do better, she thought. She realised that there was more to being a Ranger than being a crack shot with a bow or being able to move silently. A Ranger’s main job was to observe and report.

Sensing her annoyance, Will touched her arm.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Learn from it. For the moment, take a good look at the layout of the camp, and where the cave and the cliff path are. Study it until you’re sure you can picture it all in your mind. Then we’ll get back to our own camp site.”

She nodded, then settled down to study the beach below her, taking particular notice of the cave with the barred door and the rocky path that led down the cliff. She noted distances, angles and available cover between the path and the cave, then did the same with the cave and the tents. Finally, she set the relative position of the ship in her mind. When she was convinced that she had it fixed firmly in her memory, she squirmed back from the cliff edge and nodded to Will.

“Got it,” she said. He looked at her a moment, head slightly to one side.

“How far from the cave to the mess tent?” he asked.

She saw again the picture of the beach she had engraved in her memory. “Thirty-five, maybe forty metres.”

He nodded. “And to the sleeping tents?”

“Another ten.”

“How far to the ship?”

“A hundred and ten metres. And she’s a little to the right of the camp.”

“Can you see the ship from the cave entrance?”

She paused, frowning. She hadn’t been expecting that question. Then she answered carefully.

“I don’t think so. The mess tent and the sleeping tents are in between those two points.”

“Good girl.” He touched her arm, then gestured behind them. “Let’s get back to where we can talk comfortably and we’ll go over the plan for tonight.”

“Do we have a plan for tonight?” she asked.

“We certainly do.”

“Is it a good plan? Will I like it?” she asked, grinning cheekily.

Will regarded her solemnly for several seconds.

“It’s a great plan. You’re going to love it.”

She thought about the situation. There were two of them, and now that the ship’s crew had added another seven men to the enemy, it was two against eighteen. They were pretty long odds, no matter how many arrows they might have.

Whatever the plan was, she doubted that she was going to love it.