The dim starlight now seemed as bright as day and she forced herself to move slowly, placing her feet deliberately, fighting the temptation to rush for cover.
The cloth padding on her feet did a good job muffling the sound of her footsteps. But even so, the crunching of the shingle seemed deafening to her. Four more paces:three:two:one.
Heart pounding, pulse racing, she sank gratefully into the shadow of the rough table and benches. There was a small cluster of rocks halfway down the beach. That was her next goal. She hesitated, wanting to stay in the comforting shadow provided by the table. But she knew if she didn't go soon, she might never have the courage to move. She stepped out resolutely, one foot after the other, wincing at the muted scrunching of the stones underfoot. This part of the journey took her directly in front of the door to the dormitory. If any of the Skandians came out, she must be seen.
She reached the shelter of the rocks and felt the welcome protection of the shadows wrap around her once again. The hardest part of the trip was over now. She took a few seconds to let her pulse settle, then moved off toward the ships. Now that she was nearly there, she wanted desperately to run. But she fought the temptation and moved slowly and smoothly into the darkness beside Wolf Fang.
Utterly exhausted, she sank to the damp stones, leaning against the ship's planking. Now she watched as Will followed in her footsteps.
There were scattered clouds scudding across the sky, sending a series of darker shadows rippling over the beach. Will matched his movement to the rhythm of the wind and clouds and moved, surefooted, along the track Evanlyn had just followed. She caught her breath in surprise as he seemed to disappear after the first few meters, melding into the pattern of moving light and shade and becoming part of the overall picture. She saw him again, briefly, at the benches and then at the rocks. Then he seemed to rise out of the ground a few meters from her. She shook her head in amazement. No wonder people thought Rangers were magicians, she reflected. Unaware of her reaction, Will grinned quickly at her and moved close so they could talk.
"All right?" he asked in a lowered tone, and when she nodded, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
This time, there was no hesitation. "I'm sure," she said firmly.
He gripped her shoulder again in a gesture of encouragement.
"Good for you." Will glanced around. They were far enough from the huts now that there was little chance of their voices being overheard and the wind, although not as boisterous as it had been, provided plenty of cover as well.
He felt Evanlyn could use some encouragement, so he pointed to the skiff.
"Remember, this thing is small. It's not like the wolfships. It'll ride over the big waves, not crash through them. So we're safe as houses."
He wasn't sure about the last two statements, but they seemed logical to him. He'd watched the gulls and penguins around the island riding the massive waves and it seemed that the smaller you were, the safer you were.
He was carrying a large wineskin, stolen from the provisions cabinet. He'd emptied the wine out and refilled the skin with water.
It didn't taste too good, but it would keep them alive. Besides, he thought philosophically, the worse it tasted, the longer it would last them. He placed it carefully in the bottom of the skiff and took a few minutes to check that oars, rudder and the small mast and sail were all safely stowed. The incoming tide was lapping about a third of the way up the skiff now and he knew that was as high as it was going to come. In a few minutes, it would start to go out. And he and Evanlyn would go with it. Vaguely, he knew that the coast of Teutlandt was somewhere to the south of them. Or perhaps they might sight a ship now that the Summer Gales seemed to be moderating. He didn't dwell on the future too much. He simply knew that he could not remain a prisoner.
If it came to it, he would rather die trying to be free.
"Can't sit here all night," he said. "Take the other side and let's get this boat in the water. Lift first, then push."
Taking hold of the gunwales on either side, they heaved and strained together. At first, it stuck fast in the shingle. But once they lifted and broke the hold, it began to slide more easily. Then it was afloat, and the two of them clambered aboard. Will gave one last shove with his foot and the skiff drifted out from the beach. Will felt a moment of triumph, then he realized he didn't have time to congratulate himself. Evanlyn, white-faced and tense, was clinging to the gunwales on either side of her as the boat rocked in the small waves.
"So far so good," she said. But her voice betrayed the nervousness she was feeling.
Clumsily, he settled the oars in the oarlocks. He'd watched Svengal do it a dozen times. But now he found that watching and doing were two different matters, and for the first time, he had a twinge of doubt. Maybe he'd taken on more than he could handle. He tried a clumsy stroke with the oars, stabbing at the water and heaving. He missed on the left-hand side, crabbing the boat around and nearly falling onto the floorboards.
"Slowly," Evanlyn advised him, and he tried again, with greater care. This time, he felt a welcome surge of movement through the boat.
He recalled that he'd seen Svengal twisting the oars at the end of each stroke to prevent the blades grabbing in the water. When he did the same, the action was easier. With more confidence, he took a few more strokes and the boat moved more smoothly. The tide was taking effect now, and when Evanlyn looked back at the beach, she felt a lurch of fear to see how far they had come. Will noticed her reaction.
"It'll move faster as we get out into the middle," he told her, between strokes. "We're just on the edge of the tide run."
"Will!" she cried out in an alarmed voice. "There's water in the boat!"
The wrappings around her feet had prevented her feeling the water so far. But now it had soaked through, and when she looked down, she could see water surging back and forth over the floorboards.
"It's just spray," he said carelessly. "We'll bale her out once we're clear of the harbor."
"It's not spray!" she replied, her voice cracking. "The boat is leaking! Look!"
He looked down and his heart leaped into his mouth. She was right.
There were several centimeters of water above the floorboards of the skiff, and the level seemed to be rising.
"Oh my God!" he said. "Start baling, quickly!"
There was a small bucket in the stern and she seized it and began frantically scooping water over the side. But the level was slowly gaining on her and Will could feel the boat responding more sluggishly as more and more water rushed in.
"Go back! Go back!" Evanlyn yelled at him. All thought of secrecy was abandoned now.
Will nodded, too busy to talk, and heaved desperately on one oar, swinging the boat around to head for the beach. Now he had to fight against the tide run and panic made him clumsy. He missed a stroke and overbalanced again, nearly losing an oar over the side. His mouth was dry with fear as he grabbed at the oar, catching it at the last minute.
Evanlyn, scooping frantically at the water in the boat, realized that she was spilling as much water back in as she was throwing overboard. She fought down the sick feeling of panic and forced herself to bale more calmly. That was better, she thought. But the water was still gaining on her.
Luckily, Will had the good sense to move the boat sideways, back to the edge of the tide run, where the outflow was not as fierce. Free of the grip of the main current, the boat began to make better headway. But it was still settling deeper into the water, and the deeper it settled, the faster the inflow of water became. And the more difficult the boat became to row.