In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers by Simon J. Townley

you’re done, you know where to find me.”  
    Jonah strode off up the hill, setting a fierce pace even without the help of his cane. Up to his old tricks. Did he never learn? Conall ran after the first mate. “The captain told us to stick together.”  
    “The captain didn’t give us enough time for all the tasks he wants finished,” Argent said. “He needs a guide and information, and there’s only one place we’ll find that.” He pointed to an inn perched on high land overlooking the harbour.  
    “The captain said…”  
    “Don’t keep telling me what the captain said, boy. Are you his parrot?” Jonah kept up his swift pace, never pausing to let Conall catch up or get his breath back.  
    The inn, a sprawling wooden building two storeys high, had a balcony out front. Three women sat on chairs, looking over the harbour and catching the eye of everyone who approached. One of them stood and waved towards them. Jonah bowed low with a flourish, winked at Conall and strode through the front door.  
    The bar was dark and gloomy after the bright afternoon sunshine outside and Conall’s eyes took time to adjust. He made out a handful of men huddled around tables.
      “Take care now, no loose talk,” Jonah said. He stalked to the bar, shouted for service. A tall, thin man with an eye missing slouched towards them. He said nothing as he fetched Jonah’s drinks, a beer and a glass of spirits, clear stuff in a shot glass that Argent knocked back with a single gulp. The barman put a mug of beer in front of Conall but he didn’t touch it.  
    “Know any good sailors, men who’ve been north?” Jonah asked. “We’re taking on crew, if there’s someone with knowledge of the seas.”  
    “And where would you be heading?” the thin man said in a thick, foreign accent. His hair was jet black, his skin pale, his mouth set in a permanent sneer.  
    “North,” Jonah said.  
    The barman shrugged and turned away from them, returning to a table where he’d been playing cards with two other men.  
    “Not too friendly,” Conall said.  
    “He’s not, but there’s some here who spend more time getting to know a man, if you take my meaning. Stay here, don’t go wandering, or finding any trouble. I’ll be upstairs, see if the ladies have the information we need.” Jonah slugged his beer, crossed to the card table, spoke to the barman briefly, then headed up a set of wooden steps.  
    Conall turned to look around the room. Faces lurked in dark corners. No one seemed to be looking his way. All the same, he felt self-conscious, as if people watched him. As if they knew he had no business being here.  
    He lingered for five minutes, maybe ten, then left his beer, unwilling to break the captain’s orders, and moved towards the door. As he crossed the bar-room, he felt the hair on his neck prickle as eyes followed him. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. The room was eery quiet, men whispering in corners, but from upstairs came the sound of female shrieks and laughter. Conall stepped through the doorway, saw The Arkady moored across the bay, her white hull catching the late afternoon sunlight. He looked down towards the harbour, hoping to see the crew making their way up the winding path towards the inn. Instead he saw one of the row-boats setting off for the ship.  
    What was taking Jonah so long? Two hours the captain said. Would he really sail without them?
      Conall moved away from the doorway, stepping out of the shade into direct sunlight. The weather was cooler this far north. No longer the sweltering heat he was used to in Shetland. There was even a chill in the wind coming from the north east across the arctic sea.  
    He heard a noise behind him. Two men emerged, not from the bar-room, but around the side of the inn, on the road twenty yards below him. Between him and the harbour. The look of them, the way they carried themselves, shoulders tensed, arms loose but ready, something warned him. He span