Jeod lit an oil lantern and held it up before them. “Are we ready?” he asked. They nodded. Then Jeod unlatched the door and they filed outside to the empty cobblestone street. Behind them, Jeod lingered in the entryway, casting a longing gaze toward the stairs on the right, but Helen did not appear. With a shudder, Jeod left his home and closed the door.
Roran put a hand on his arm. “What’s done is done.”
“I know.”
They trotted through the dark city, slowing to a quick walk whenever they encountered watchmen or a fellow creature of the night, most of whom darted away at the sight of them. Once they heard footsteps on top of a nearby building. “The design of the city,” explained Jeod, “makes it easy for thieves to climb from one roof to another.”
They slowed to a walk again when they arrived at Teirm’s eastern gate. Because the gate opened to the harbor, it was closed only four hours each night in order to minimize the disruption to commerce. Indeed, despite the time, several men were already moving through the gate.
Even though Jeod had warned them it might happen, Roran still felt a surge of fear when the guards lowered their pikes and asked what their business was. He wet his mouth and tried not to fidget while the elder soldier examined a scroll that Jeod handed to him. After a long minute, the guard nodded and returned the parchment. “You can pass.”
Once they were on the wharf and out of earshot of the city wall, Jeod said, “It’s a good thing he couldn’t read.”
The six of them waited on the damp planking until, one by one, Jeod’s men emerged from the gray mist that lay upon the shore. They were grim and silent, with braided hair that hung to the middle of their backs, tar-smeared hands, and an assortment of scars even Roran respected. He liked what he saw, and he could tell they approved of him as well. They did not, however, take to Birgit.
One of the sailors, a large brute of a man, jerked a thumb at her and accused Jeod, “You didn’t say there’d be a woman along for the fightin’. How am I supposed to concentrate with some backwoods tramp getting in m’ way?”
“Don’t talk about her like that,” said Nolfavrell between clenched teeth.
“An’ her runt too?”
In a calm voice, Jeod said, “Birgit has fought the Ra’zac. And her son has already killed one of Galbatorix’s best soldiers. Can you claim as much, Uthar?”
“It’s not proper,” said another man. “I wouldn’t feel safe with a woman at my side; they do naught but bring bad luck. A lady shouldn’t—”
Whatever he was going to say was lost, for at that instant, Birgit did a very unladylike thing. Stepping forward, she kicked Uthar between his legs and then grabbed the second man and pressed her knife against his throat. She held him for a moment, so everyone could see what she had done, then released her captive. Uthar rolled on the boards by her feet, holding himself and muttering a stream of curses.
“Does anyone else have an objection?” demanded Birgit. Beside her, Nolfavrell stared with openmouthed amazement at his mother.
Roran pulled his hood lower to conceal his grin. Good thing they haven’t noticed Gertrude, he thought.
When no one else challenged Birgit, Jeod asked, “Did you bring what I wanted?” Each sailor reached inside his vest and divulged a weighted club and several lengths of rope.
Thus armed, they worked their way down the harbor toward the Dragon Wing, doing their best to escape detection. Jeod kept his lantern shuttered the whole while. Near the dock, they hid behind a warehouse and watched the two lights carried by sentries bob around the deck of the ship. The gangway had been pulled away for the night.
“Remember,” whispered Jeod, “the most important thing is to keep the alarm from being sounded until we’re ready to leave.”
“Two men above, two men below, right?” asked Roran.
Uthar replied, “That be the custom.”
Roran and Uthar stripped to their breeches, tied the rope and clubs around their waists — Roran left his hammer behind — and then ran farther down the wharf, out of the sentries’ sight, where they lowered themselves into the frigid water.
“Garr, I hate when I have to do this,” said Uthar.
“You’ve done it before?”
“Four times now. Don’t stop moving or you’ll freeze.”
Clinging to the slimy piles underneath the wharf, they swam back up the way they had come until they reached the stone pier that led to the Dragon Wing, and then turned right. Uthar put his lips to Roran’s ear. “I’ll take the starboard anchor.” Roran nodded his agreement.
They both dove under the black water, and there they separated. Uthar swam like a frog under the bow of the ship, while Roran went straight to the port anchor and clung to its thick chain. He untied the club from his waist and fit it between his teeth — as much to stop them from chattering as to free his hands — and prepared to wait. The rough metal sapped the warmth from his arms as fast as ice.
Not three minutes later, Roran heard the scuff of Birgit’s boots above him as she walked to the end of the pier, opposite the middle of the Dragon Wing, and then the faint sound of her voice as she engaged the sentries in conversation. Hopefully, she would keep their attention away from the bow.
Now!
Roran pulled himself hand over hand along the chain. His right shoulder burned where the Ra’zac had bit him, but he pressed on. From the porthole where the anchor chain entered the ship, he clambered up the ridges that supported the painted figurehead, over the railing, and onto the deck. Uthar was already there, dripping and panting.
Clubs in hand, they padded toward the aft of the ship, using whatever cover they could find. They stopped not ten feet behind the sentries. The two men leaned on the railing, bandying words with Birgit.
In a flash, Roran and Uthar burst into the open and struck the sentries on the head before they could draw their sabers. Below, Birgit waved for Jeod and the rest of their group, and between them they raised the gangway and slid one end across to the ship, where Uthar lashed it to the railing.
As Nolfavrell ran aboard, Roran tossed his rope to the boy and said, “Tie and gag these two.”
Then everyone but Gertrude descended belowdecks to hunt for the remaining sentries. They found four additional men — the purser, the bosun, the ship’s cook, and the ship’s cook’s assistant — all of whom were trundled out of bed, knocked on the head if they resisted, and then securely trussed. In this, Birgit again proved her worth, capturing two men herself.
Jeod had the unhappy prisoners placed in a line on the deck so they could be watched at all times, then declared, “We have much to do, and little time. Roran, Uthar is captain on the Dragon Wing. You and the others will take your orders from him.”
For the next two hours, the ship was a frenzy of activity. The sailors tended to the rigging and sails, while Roran and those from Carvahall worked to empty the hold of extraneous supplies, such as bales of raw wool. These they lowered overboard to prevent anyone on the wharf from hearing a splash. If the entire village was to fit on the Dragon Wing, they needed to clear as much space as possible.
Roran was in the midst of fitting a cable around a barrel when he heard the hoarse cry, “Someone’s coming!” Everyone on deck, except Jeod and Uthar, dropped to their bellies and reached for their weapons. The two men who remained standing paced the ship as if they were sentries. Roran’s heart pounded while he lay motionless, wondering what was about to happen. He held his breath as Jeod addressed the intruder... then footsteps echoed on the gangway.