The Smugglers' Journal – Chapter 3
The Tumble Downs of the Nordland coast are low, rolling and featureless. Nothing grows above a few inches tall there for fear of being torn down by the punishing winds. Low crabgrass and scrub are all that are to be found, apart from the lichen that clings determinedly to the leeward face of the rocks. No-one lives there, the land being unsuitable for farming or grazing. The streams, oozing through timeworn gullies, are home only to slime and frogs. The occasional pools that break up this monotonous landscape are foetid and devoid of life. Jakob, huddled miserably on the bank of one such pool, could not imagine a more depressing land. He cast a despairing look at Yan. The Norscan was hunched up beside him, staring mutely into space. Jakob put his head in his hands and groaned softly:
"Why me? Why, oh why, oh why me?!"
Jakob had not stayed on deck long after discovering the wyrdroot. Slipping the packet inside his jacket, he had quickly formulated a plan. Staying aboard ship was out of the question. Not only did he find smuggling profoundly immoral, but Jakob also knew it to be punishable by death and he had not intention of being seized by Imperial customs. Resolving to abandon ship, Jakob had woken Yan and, after a few tortuous minutes explanation, they had set about packing. The Norscan was far from Jakob's idea of a perfect travelling companion, but he was the closest thing Jakob had to a friend aboard ship and travelling alone in the Wasteland would have been practically suicide.
With that in mind, they had equipped themselves from the ship's armoury. Although he had loudly despaired at the lack of two-handed battle-axes, Yan had taken two regular boarding axes. Jakob, although a classically trained fencer and not unskilled at the sport, had never drawn in anger and was unsure what to take. With his favoured rapier unavailable he had settled for a stout cutlass, which he wore thrust in his belt. Gathering what rations they could carry from the stores and the little money they had to hand, they had slipped up on deck and into the ship's boat that the smugglers had left tethered at the side.
The night had been pitch dark but even as Yan had taken up the oars a faint grey light could be seen on the eastern horizon. Jakob had cast off and the boat struck out to the shadow veiled shore. It was all Jakob could do to not keep glancing back over his shoulder as the boat crept away from the Swallow with what felt like agonising slowness. Jakob had expected any second to hear cries of alarm or worse, cannon-fire. Yan had seen unconcerned; all his attention focused on rowing.
They abandoned the boat on the rocky beach and took a well-worn path cut into the low, sandstone cliff (no doubt made by the smugglers' associates) up onto the Tumble Downs. Dawn was breaking just as they reached the summit. Turning, they could see the Swallow lying solitary on the grey water and the figures of men moving about on her deck. Jakob heard angry cries as the figures gesticulated to the shore. Soon he saw the rest of the ships' boats being lowered into the water and the early morning light glinting off the sailors' drawn swords.
Not that Jakob stood around to watch. Grabbing Yan by the wrist, he had headed off across the Downs. It seemed a horribly short period of time before he heard the seamen's cries close behind and the drumming of many feet on the turf. Yan and Jakob had sped on, darting back and forth across the Downs, diving into every available gully and ditch in a bid to shake of pursuit. After a while, Jakob could not tell how long, the sound of running feet and the harsh cries had faded. He and Yan had carried on for a brief period, until they stumbled upon this pool, one bank of which was completely hidden by the grass overhanging the ledge above. This was where they now sat: alone and miserable.
"Want some tack?" Jakob asked, reaching for his bag.
"Yah" shrugged Yan. The Norscan seemed more bemused than afraid, sitting hunched up with his legs crossed and his white fur cloak drawn over his shoulders. His large blue eyes were quiet and distant; Jakob couldn't read any expression in them at all.
Jakob opened his pack and rummaged around for a lump of tack. Annoyingly, it appeared to be hidden at the very bottom of the bag, forcing him to empty half of it onto the bank. There was a sealed jug of ship's water, some cheese wrapped in a cloth, an inkbottle, a few dog-eared quills and his journal. The volume dropped onto the bank and fell open at one of the central pages. Jakob reached over to close it but stopped.
The page had writing on it. Jakob hadn't reached the twentieth page yet.
Jakob put his bag to one side and picked up the journal with both hands. The entry on the top of the left-hand page read:
'Received VIII barrels of root, IX bales of tobacco and V casks of spirit from Herr. Jutenburg out of Erengrad. Payment received in advance by the usual method'
It was dated seven months ago.
Jakob flicked through, glancing at random entries. It was a log of all the smugglers' dealings. Who they dealt with, what they were paid, what they received and where they got it.
"It's the smugglers' journal" Jakob breathed.
"Wuh?" said Yan, pausing in his determined assault on the ship's tack.
"It's their journal" Jakob explained "I must have picked up the wrong book in the clerk's office when we abandoned ship! This is a record of everything they've ever done! If we turned this over to the authorities, they'd hang for sure!"
If Customs were feeling generous, he added silently. This explained why the smugglers were chasing them, anyway. Jakob hadn't really thought about it before; he'd been too busy running. But now it was horribly clear: they thought he and Yan were going to turn the journal in.
What can we do, Jakob wondered desperately? We can't give it back to them; they'd kill us straight after we handed it over…. Perhaps we could leave it for them to find…? No, that wouldn't work. They might not find it and then only discover we didn't have it when they searched our bodies… We can't fight them… We'll have to outrun them. But where can we go? We've no money, little food, no contacts… We've only got one choice…
"I've got it," said Jakob.
"Got what?" asked Yan.
"We must take this journal back to Marienburg" Jakob explained, holding up the volume for emphasis "We can turn it over to the Burgomeisters. They'll protect us from the smugglers. It's our only hope."
"Where Mariaburg?"
"Ma-ree-en-burg" sighed Jakob "It's the city we left a few days ago? The southern city?"
"Oh yah" Yan nodded.
"It's south of here, I'm not sure how far" said Jakob, privately cursing his ignorance of the local geography. I never thought I'd need to know anything about this gods-forsaken hole, he thought bitterly.
Jakob resolved to wait till nightfall, then he and Yan could head south in the dark. Hopefully their supplies would last until they reached a settlement. In the meantime, call they could do was wait.
After many hours of tedious silence (the highlight of which was a frog poking its head out of the pool and then diving back down again), the sun descended. Jakob waited until it was fully dark (mercifully, it was a cloudy night) until he roused Yan, who seemed to be dozing lightly.
"We're heading south" Jakob explained "It shouldn't take us more than a week to get there, even less to find a village or something. Now stay close…"
Jakob was just about to brush the grass screen aside when Yan's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. The Norscan shook his head violently and placed a finger to his lips.
"Oh don't be stupid" scoffed Jakob "They won't be looking for us after dark! They'll wait til…"
"Hey, what's that?"
"Over here!"
Jakob froze in terror as a lamp bobbed into view, less than ten paces from the pool edge. Two men could just been seen silhouetted against the yellow light.
"In there!" cried one of them, pointing at the overhang.
"Run!" hissed Jakob, but Yan was already up and heading for the other side of the pool. Jakob followed, bursting through the overhand and out into the exposed night.
"We've found them!"
"Get them!"
"There!"
The lamp bearers were strung out across the Downs in a great line, stretching into the distance on both sides. As the cry echoed out, they began to converge on the pool. Jakob could hear feet and angry voices approaching. Then there was the terrible whisper of crossbow bolts being loosed and the soft thud of them burying themselves in the turf. Something shot past Jakob's ear and his limbs and bowels all unfroze at once.
It was a dreadful hunt. Jakob led, spurred on by the terror of the silent crossbow bolts, with Yan close behind, their pursuers an endless wall of light and noise, always just behind them, never tiring, never slowing. The quarry blundered through the night, into ditches and over hillocks, sometimes up their waists in stinking pools. Slowly, Jakob became aware of a presence up ahead, high and dark against the clouded sky. At first he thought it was a cliff, or a wall but as he drew closer he could see that it was a forest.
"Head… for… the… trees!" Jakob screamed, his lungs burning with the effort of running. He heard Yan shout a reply in Norscan, but he did not give it a moment's thought.
In the light of the smugglers' lamps Jakob could see the edge of the forest up ahead. The trees were huge conifers, their branches long and cruel. Jakob made for a narrow gap, squeezing between the trunks of two of the nearest trees and ploughed on, Yan close behind. The smugglers followed, the lamplight filling the forest with strange and grotesque shadows. Jakob cried in alarm as the shadows rose around him, but he ran on, sweat of fear now mingling with the sweat of the chase.
That was when they heard the drums.
They were distant at first, but grew louder with every breath. Where they came from Jakob couldn't tell. It seemed to be from the west, ahead, but there were echoes both to the south and north. The lamps wavered. There were cries of fear behind them now, not cries of anger. The running feet changed direction as the smugglers' fled back to the Downs.
Jakob stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a tree, Yan beside him. The Norscan was breathing steadily, but didn't appear to be out of breath.
The drums grew louder and closer.
"This… way" gasped Jakob, pushing himself off the tree and starting toward what he guessed was the south.
"Wait! Hold, southerner!" Yan shouted.
"Are… you… mad?!" Jakob shouted over his shoulder as he broke into a run "Can't… you… hear… the drums? We…must…run!"
Yan shouted something in Norscan but Jakob ignored him and raced on. The drumming was very close now. It seemed to be coming from all sides. Jakob could hear horse's hooves and the braying of horns. He ran on, trees snatching and tearing at his clothes. He tripped, dragged himself upright and staggered on, stunned from panic and exhaustion.
The drumming was on top of him now. It was inside of him, beating out its relentless rhythm on his bones. He thought his head was going to explode. He drove his way through another tangle of branches and needles and came face to face with a nightmare.
The thing, for it could not be called a man, was about the size of a child. By the light of the torch it carried, Jakob could see that its skin had an unnatural yellow-orange tinge, while its eyes were of the deepest purple. Twisted in its face, its head was bald and crowned with two stubby horns like a young goat. It was dressed only in a loincloth and carried a stone-tipped spear.
Jakob screamed and backed away, hand flailing wildly for his cutlass. The creature watched him curiously for a moment, then threw back its head and let out a long, screeching wail. Jakob's hand at last grasped the cutlass. He was about to draw when he heard the drumming of hooves. Something burst from the trees behind Jakob and struck him on the back of the head. Jakob fell sprawling at the little creature's feet. Turning his head, he saw a terrible monster. It was shaped like a large man, but only just. It had cloven hooves for feet and a goat's head upon its shoulders. In its right hand it carried a spear and a round shield, decorated with scalps, was on its left arm. It stared down at Jakob with dumb, bloodshot eyes. Jakob knew, with absolute certainty, that his only chance of survival was to lie still and make no sound.
The goat headed creature spoke to the first creature in a tongue Jakob could not understand. It had a deep, braying voice, stamping and gesturing a great deal as it spoke. The smaller creature chattered back in a voice like a terrier's. Jakob heard more hooves approaching and suddenly the space around him was filled with the terrible man-creatures, each braying and stamping as loud as they could. Then he felt rough hands take him and sling him over something's shoulder. Close to, the creatures' smell, a mixture of unwashed hair and flesh and an odour Jakob could not identify, was almost unbearable. The creatures gave a great roar and headed off through the trees, Jakob borne along like some prize kill of the hunt.
