Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: #Fantasy, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Action & Adventure, #General
The Outcasts (29 page)
“Good luck to us,” Ulf said sarcastically. They had all seen how the Wolves had overcome the full-strength Sharks’ team. They knew that eight of them had little chance against the ten Wolves.
And so it proved. The contest lasted barely fifteen seconds before Stig, who was in the lead for the Herons, was dragged over the centerline.
The watching Sharks cheered ironically when they saw how easily the eight Herons were defeated. They might not win this assessment. But now they knew they were a certainty for second place.
“Fifteen minutes!” Sigurd told the dejected Herons. “Then you face the Sharks.”
“And good luck to us,” said Wulf this time.
His brother looked at him angrily. “I said that first,” he snapped.
Wulf thrust his chest out, facing him. “And I said it second! Want to do something about it?”
“Do you?”
“Oh, stop it, for pity’s sake!” Hal told them. They both looked at him in surprise and he realized that half the time, they had no idea that they were actually squabbling. It was just an automatic reflex.
“This is no time for us to be fighting amongst ourselves,” Hal told them. “We’ve got to figure a way to beat Tursgud.”
Stig laughed sarcastically. “Let me know what it is.”
“What’s Jesper up to?” Edvin said suddenly. They followed his gaze and saw Jesper had approached Gort. He laid his hand on the instructor’s arm to get his attention and said something to him. Gort shook his hand off and gestured angrily back to where Jesper’s teammates were waiting. Jesper shrugged and sauntered back to join them.
“What was that about?” Hal asked.
“Oh, I was asking our esteemed instructor if he had any last-minute advice that might help us. But he told me to get the blazes back to my team.”
“I’m not surprised,” Hal said. “What were you thinking?”
Jesper looked round to make sure nobody was watching, then grinned evilly.
“I was using my ingenuity. I thought we might find a use for this,” he said, and held up Gort’s silver whistle. “I picked his pocket when I put my other hand on his arm.”
Quickly, the boys huddled around him to shield the whistle from view. Hal’s mind raced, then a smile spread over his face.
“All right, here’s what we do. Jesper, keep the whistle concealed in your hand. Get behind me in the line. When we start to slide toward the center mark, wait till we get close, then blow the whistle. I’ll tell you when.” He looked around the circle of eager faces. “As soon as we hear that, we all stand up as if it’s over,” he continued. “Let go the rope, groan and moan as if we’ve lost. The Sharks will do the same thing. Except they’ll be patting themselves on the back. We all do that,” he repeated, then looked at Ingvar. “Except Ingvar. You’ll be our anchor, Ingvar. As soon as you hear the whistle, turn and run, pulling as if the three gods of the Vallas are after you.”
Ingvar frowned, then smiled and nodded.
Hal saw that a few of his team hadn’t quite understood the result he was aiming for.
“Their anchor will be tied to the rope, so he can’t let go. But Ingvar is twice his size and much stronger. He’ll be able to heave him over the line and we’ll win.” He glanced back at Jesper. “As soon as we’re done, get rid of the whistle.”
He paused, seeing the grins breaking out among the others.
“Everyone clear?” he asked. They all nodded.
“Clear!” they responded.
“Ingvar?” he asked.
Ingvar nodded ponderously. “Don’t worry, Hal. I’m shortsighted, not stupid. I’ve got it.”
“Then let’s go,” Hal said, seeing Sigurd moving toward them to summon them to the final contest.
They moved in a group to take up their positions on the rope. Stig was first in line, with Hal behind him. Then Jesper. Stefan and the twins were behind him, then Edvin and, finally, Ingvar was at the end. The massively built boy wrapped the rope around his waist.
On the other side of the center mark, his counterpart did the same, and the nine other Sharks took hold of the rope, with Tursgud in the lead position, facing Stig.
“Ready to lose, birdies?” he said sarcastically.
Stig went to reply, but Hal, close behind him, said in a low, urgent voice, “Ignore it!”
Stig nodded, pushing the sudden burst of anger down with a giant effort. Instead, he smiled at Tursgud. Strangely, he thought, that seemed to annoy the other boy more than a snappy reply. He filed that away for future reference.
Sigurd stepped forward, looking left and right. Gort crouched, eyes riveted on the white mark, his hand hovering near his pocket.
Don’t reach for the whistle yet, Hal pleaded silently. Gort’s hand played with the edge of his pocket and Hal held his breath. But before the instructor could reach farther, Sigurd’s command boomed out.
“GO!”
Again, the rope came up taut with a loud snap. Dust and dirt flew from it as the strands tightened suddenly. The two teams heaved, neither moving as they felt each other’s strength and power. Then inexorably, the Herons began to slide forward. No amount of bracing their heels into the turf, no amount of leaning back against the rope, no amount of snarling with the muscle-wrenching effort could stop their slow slide toward defeat.
Stig’s feet teetered forward in tiny steps, getting closer and closer to the line. Out of the corner of his eye, Hal saw Gort leaning forward, his hand went into his pocket, and he frowned, searching.
“Now!” Hal gasped.
Jesper, leaning forward over the rope so that Viggo couldn’t see what he was doing, put the whistle to his lips.
PEEEEEEEP!
At the piercing sound, seventeen boys relaxed, releasing the rope. The Sharks cheered, convinced they had won. The Herons threw their arms up in despair. Several of them fell to the ground. Jesper, overcome with exhaustion, lurched away from the rope and cannoned awkwardly into Gort, who angrily shoved him aside.
And the eighteenth boy, Ingvar, turned and ran like a charging bull, pulling on the rope with all his strength, thrusting with his powerful legs and heaving with the muscles of his massive arms and shoulders and chest.
The Sharks’ anchorman, caught by surprise, was propelled past his cheering comrades at a run. As he tried to release the rope around his waist, he tripped and fell and was dragged, sliding on his back, over the line.
Pandemonium.
The Herons were cheering Ingvar, jeering at Tursgud and his team. Tursgud’s face was black with fury.
Sigurd strode among them and bellowed for silence. Gradually, the hubbub died away.
“Gort!” the chief instructor demanded. “Why did you blow the whistle?”
Gort shook his head, puzzled. “I didn’t. I was reaching for it but I couldn’t find it.” He patted his pockets, searching for it, then frowned. “Wait … here it is. I must have put it in the wrong pocket.”
Hal looked at Jesper, who lowered one eyelid in a slow, conspiratorial wink.
“Well, who blew the whistle?” Gort demanded. He was rewarded with a circle of blank looks. “Viggo! What did you see?”
Viggo shrugged, grinning. “I didn’t see anyone with a whistle, chief. I did see the Sharks’ last man being pulled across the line. I guess that means the Herons won.”
“WHAT?” It was Tursgud, his voice cracking with anger and indignation. “They cheated!” He thrust an accusing finger at Hal and his team, who grinned back at him.
Sigurd slapped his hand down. “And tell me exactly, how did they manage to do that?”
“They—they—” Tursgud stammered, then his eyes bored in on Hal as he realized how they had done it. “They must have had a whistle of their own.”
Instantly, Hal stepped forward, matching Tursgud’s indignation. He snapped an order to his team.
“All right, Herons. Turn out your pockets. Now!”
And a shower of small items hit the ground. Pieces of string. A comb. Several coins, a carved wooden figure, a piece of amber, and a smooth white river rock that Wulf was very fond of.
But no whistle. Hal looked at Sigurd and spread his hands.
“They’ve hidden it somewhere!” Tursgud insisted.
But Sigurd shook his head. “It’s a silver bosun’s whistle, boy. They don’t grow on trees, you know. How do you think Hal’s team got their hands on one?”
“I don’t know. But I … maybe they … well, I don’t know but they must have …”
Edvin stepped forward, holding one hand in the air, forefinger raised, rather like a student in barneskole.
“Instructor?” he said hesitantly.
Sigurd turned to him. “What is it?” he demanded.
Edvin was almost apologetic as he continued. “It’s just … I saw a couple of jackdaws a little while back. They’re always mimicking sounds, you know?”
Sigurd nodded. That was true. “I know. What about it?”
“Well …” Edvin hesitated, glancing nervously at Gort. “It’s just that Gort
does
blow his whistle an awful lot,” he said, then hurriedly added to Gort, “sorry, sir.”
does
blow his whistle an awful lot,” he said, then hurriedly added to Gort, “sorry, sir.”
Gort harrumphed. It was true, and everyone knew it.
Sigurd came to a decision. “Very well, that’s the only explanation that makes sense. It was a jackdaw. So the result is, a win to the Herons—”
“No!” Tursgud began.
But Sigurd rolled on over him. “That’s two wins to the Wolves, one to the Herons. Nil to the Sharks. That’s the way we’ll mark it.”
“No! It’s not fair! I want a rematch! I protest!” Tursgud was almost screaming in fury. Little flecks of white showed at the corners of his mouth. Sigurd turned slowly and looked at him.
“You protest?” he said, his voice ominously calm.
Tursgud got himself under control and nodded. “Yes. I protest!”
Tursgud was about to say more, but Sigurd stepped forward, standing with his face a few centimeters from the boy’s.
“Well, get this straight. You
don’t
protest. You obey! Understood?”
don’t
protest. You obey! Understood?”
“But my father is the …,” Tursgud began then, seeing a very nasty light in Sigurd’s eyes, he backed away. “Yes, sir.”
“The result stands,” Sigurd said, then he pushed through the crowd of boys. As he passed Hal, he said in a low tone, “Don’t know how you did it. Don’t want to know. But well done.”
chapter
twenty-five
twenty-five
I
f Hal expected that to be the end of the matter, he was sadly mistaken.
f Hal expected that to be the end of the matter, he was sadly mistaken.
There was no more training after the strength test and the three teams were allowed to return to their living quarters to clean or mend their kit. The Herons set about their long-delayed task of thatching the barracks roof with pine branches. The canvas cover had been sufficient so far. But they knew that, as the weather grew colder, the rainstorms would become heavier, and eventually they would be facing snowstorms as well.
In addition, Hal knew that the extra layer of branches would keep the barracks warmer during the cold nights to come.
They cut a large supply of pine boughs, carrying them back to the campsite, then trimming them and passing them up to Edvin and Stefan. They were the lightest of the group, and so better suited to moving around on the roof. Ingvar had offered to help them. Hal had seen the others turning away to hide their smiles and he managed to keep a straight face as he thanked Ingvar, but suggested his strength might be better suited to carrying the large bundles of pine boughs in from the forest.
He had a mental image of Ingvar blundering around on the flimsy canvas roof, eventually coming crashing through, bringing a hail of torn canvas and shattered frames with him.
They had almost completed the job when Tursgud and his brotherband strode into the clearing.
The Herons were ill prepared for a confrontation. Two of their number were poised on the top of the roof, where the support structure was flimsy, to say the least. Ulf and Wulf were halfway up ladders, laden with pine boughs that they were passing to Edvin and Stefan. Stig, Hal and Jesper were trimming the pine boughs so that they were evenly shaped, and Ingvar was in the forest, fetching a final load of pine boughs.
The Sharks’ team, by contrast, were in one concerted group. And they outnumbered the Herons, ten to eight. They quickly surrounded Hal, Stig and Jesper, cutting Hal off from his other teammates.
“I want a word with you,” Tursgud said angrily.
Hal felt Stig bristling with anger beside him and he laid a hand on his forearm.
“Steady,” he told Stig in a quiet voice. He held Tursgud’s gaze with his own. “Say what you have to say and leave.”
Tursgud gave a short bark of angry laughter. “Yes. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, we’re not leaving. You cheated us out of second place and you’re going to pay for it.”
Ulf and Wulf scrambled down from their ladders, and found themselves confronted by two of Tursgud’s larger companions, who detached themselves from the group surrounding Hal, Stig and Jesper.
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