Текст книги "Birds of Prey"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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"Beat to quarters, Master Daniel!" Sir Francis ordered crisply. "Unlock the weapons chests and arm the crew. I am going across to the entrance. Four men to row the longboat and the rest take up their battle stations ashore."

Although his face remained expressionless, inwardly he was furious that he should have allowed himself to be surprised like this, with the masts un stepped and all the cannon out of the hull. He turned to Ned Tyler. "I want the prisoners taken ashore and placed under your strictest guard, well away from the beach. If they learn that there is a strange ship off the coast, it might give them the notion to try to attract attention."

Oliver rushed up the companionway with Sir Francis's cloak over his arm. While he spread it over his master's shoulders, Sir Francis finished issuing his orders. Then he turned and strode to the entry port where the longboat lay alongside and Hal was waiting, where his father could not ignore him, fretting that he might not be ordered to join him.

"Very well, then," Sir Francis snapped. "Come with me. I might have need of those eyes of yours." And Hal slid down the mooring line ahead, and cast off the moment his father stepped into the boat.

"Pull till you burst your guts!" Sir Francis told the men at the oars and the boat skittered across the lagoon. Sir Francis sprang over the side and waded ashore below the cliff with the water slopping over the tops of his high boots. Hal had to run to catch up with him on the elephant path.

They came out on the top, three hundred feet above the lagoon, looking out over the ocean. Although the wind that buffeted them on the heights had kicked the sea into a welter of breaking waves, Hal's sharp eyes picked out the brighter flecks that persisted among the ephemeral whitecaps ever before the lookout could point them out to him.

Sir Francis stared through his telescope. "What do you make of her? "he demanded of Hal.

"There are two ships," Hal told him.

"I see but one no, wait! You are right. There is another, a little further to the east. Is she a frigate, do you think?" "Three masts," Hal shaded his eyes, "and full rigged. Yes, I'd say she's a frigate. The other vessel is too far off. I cannot tell her type." It pained Hal to admit it, and he strained his eyes for some other detail. "Both ships are standing in directly towards us."

"If they are intending to head for Good Hope, then they must go about very soon," Sir Francis murmured, never lowering the telescope. They watched anxiously.

"They could be a pair of Dutch East Indiamen still making their we stings Hal hazarded hopefully.

"Then why are they pushing so close into a lee shore?" Sir Francis asked. "No, it looks very much as though they are headed straight for the entrance." He snapped the telescope closed. "Come along!" At a trot he led the way back down the path to where the longboat waited on the beach. "Master Daniel, row across to the batteries on the far side. Take command there. Do not open fire until I do They watched the longboat move swiftly over the lagoon and Daniel's men drag it into a narrow cove where it was concealed from view. Then Sir Francis strode along the gun emplacements in the cliff and gave a curt set of orders to the men who crouched over the culver ins with the burning slow-match.

"At my command, fire on the leading ship. One salvo of round shot," he told them. "Aim at the waterline. Then load with chain shot and bring down their rigging. They'll not want to try manoeuvring in these confined channels with half their sails shot away." He jumped up onto the parapet of the emplacement and stared out at the sea through the narrow entrance, but the approaching vessels were still hidden from view by the rocky cliffs.

Suddenly, from around the western point of the heads, a ship with all sail set drew into view. She was less than two miles offshore, and even as they watched in consternation she altered course, and trimmed her yards around, heading directly for the entrance.

"Their guns are run out, so it's a fight they're looking for, said Sir Francis grimly, as he sprang down from the wall. "And we shall give it to them, lads."

"No, Father," Hal cried. "I know that ship."

"Who-" Before Sir Francis could ask the question, he was given the answer. From the vessel's maintop a long swallow-tailed banner unfurled. Scarlet and snowy white, it whipped and snapped on the wind.

"The croix paudeP Hal called. "It's the Gull of Moray. It's Lord Cumbrae, Father!"

"By God, so it is. How did that red-bearded butcher know we were here?"

Astern of the Gull of Moray the strange ship hove into view. It also trained its yards around, and in succession altered its heading, following the Buzzard as he stood in towards the entrance.

"I know that ship also," Hal shouted, on the wind. "There, now! I can even recognize her figurehead. She's the Goddess. I know of no other ship on this ocean with a naked Venus at her bowsprit."

"Captain Richard Lister, it is," Sir Francis agreed. "I feel easier for having him here. He's a good man though, God knows, I trust neither of them all the way."

As the Buzzard came sailing in down the channel past the gun emplacements, he must have picked out the bright spot of Sir Francis's cloak against the lichen covered rocks, for he dipped his standard in salute.

Sir Francis lifted his Hat in acknowledgement, but grated between his teeth, "I'd rather salute you with a bouquet of grape, you Scottish bastard. You've smelt the spoils, have you? You're come to beg or steal, is that it? But how did you know?"

"Father!" Hal shouted again. "Look there, in the futtock shrouds I'd know that grinning rogue anywhere. That's how they knew. He led them here."

Sir Francis swivelled his glass. "Sam Bowles. It seems that even the sharks could not stomach that piece of carrion. I should have let his shipmates deal with him while we had the chance."

The Gull moved slowly past them, reducing sail progressively, as she threaded her way deeper into the lagoon. The Goddess followed her, at a cautious distance. She also flew the croix pott6e at her masthead, along with the cross of St. George and the Union flag. Richard Lister was also a Knight of the Order. They picked out his diminutive figure on his quarterdeck as he came to the rail and shouted something across the water that was jumbled by the wind.

"You are keeping strange company, Richard." Even though the Welshman could not hear him, Sir Francis waved his Hat in reply. Lister had been with him when they captured the Heerlycke Nacht, they had shared the spoils amicably, and he counted him a friend. Lister should have been with them, Sir Francis and the Buzzard while they spent those dreary months on blockade off Cape Agulhas. However, he had missed the rendezvous in Port Louis on the island of Mauritius. After waiting a month for him to appear, Sir Francis had been obliged to accede to the Buzzard's demands, and they had sailed without him.

"Well, we'd best put on a brave face, and go to greet our uninvited guests," Sir Francis told Hal, and went down to the beach as Daniel brought the longboat across the channel between the heads.

As they rowed back up the lagoon the two newly arrived vessels lay at anchor in the main channel. The Gull of Moray was only half a cable's length astern of the Resolution. Sir Francis ordered Daniel to steer directly to the Goddess. Richard Lister was at the entry port to greet him as he and Hal came aboard.

"Flames of hell, Franky. I heard the word that you had taken a great prize from the Dutch. Now I see her lying there at anchor." Richard seized his hand. He did not quite stand as tall as Sir Francis's shoulder but his grip was powerful. He sniffed the air with the great florid bell of his nose, and went on, in his singing Celtic lilt, "And is that not spice I smell on the air? I curse me self for not having found you at Port Louis."

"Where were you, Richard? I waited thirty-two days for you to arrive."

"It grieves me to have to admit it but I ran full tilt into a hurricane just south of Mauritius. Dismasted me and blew me clear across to the coast of St. Lawrence Island."

"That would be the same storm that dismasted the Dutchman." Sir Francis pointed across the channel at the galleon. "She was under-jury-rig when we captured her. But how did you fall in with the Buzzard?"

"I thought that as soon as the Goddess was fit for sea again I would look for you off Cape Agulhas, on the off chance that you were still on station there. That's when I came across him. He led me here."

"Well, it's good to see you, my old friend. But, tell me, do you have any news from home?" Sir Francis leaned forward eagerly. This was always one of the foremost questions men asked each other when they met out here beyond the Line. They might voyage to the furthest ends of the uncharted seas, but always their hearts yearned for home. Almost a year had passed since Sir Francis had received news from England.

At the question, Richard Lister's expression turned sombre. "Five days after I sailed from Port Louis I fell in with Windsong, one of His Majesty's frigates. She was fifty six days out from Plymouth, bound for the Coromandel coast."

"So what news did she have?" Sir Francis interrupted impatiently.

"None good, as the Lord is my witness. They say that all of England was struck by the plague, and that men, women and children died in their thousands and tens of thousands, so they could not bury them fast enough and the bodies lay rotting and stinking in the streets."

"The plague!" Sir Francis crossed himself in horror. "The wrath of God."

"Then while the plague still raged through every town and village, London was destroyed by a mighty fire. They say that the flames left hardly a house standing."

Sir Francis stared at him in dismay. "London burned? It cannot be! The King is he safe? Was it the Dutch that put the torch to London? Tell me more, man, tell me more."

"Yes, the Black Boy is safe. But no, this time it was not the Dutch to blame. The fire was started by a baker's oven in Pudding Lane and it burned for three days without check. St. Paul's Cathedral is burned to the ground and the Guildhall, the Royal Exchange, one hundred parish churches and God alone knows what else besides. They say that the damage will exceed ten million pounds."

"Ten millions!" Sir Francis stared at him aghast. "Not even the richest monarch in the world could rise to such an amount. Why, Richard, the total Crown revenues for a year are less than one million!

It must beggar the King and the nation."

Richard Lister shook his head with gloomy relish. "There's more bad news besides. The Dutch have given us a mighty pounding. That devil, de Ruyter, sailed right into the Medway and the Thames. We lost sixteen ships of the line to him, and he captured the Royal Charles at her moorings in Greenwich docks and towed her away to Amsterdam."

"The flagship, the flower and pride of our fleet. Can England survive such a defeat, coming as it does so close upon the heels of the plague and the fire?"

Lister shook his head again. "They say the King is suing for peace with the Dutch. The war might be over at this very moment. It may have ended months ago, for all we know."

"Let us pray most fervently that is not so." Sir Francis looked across at the Resolution. "I took that prize barely three weeks past. If the war was over then, my commission from the Crown would have expired. My capture might be construed as an act of piracy."

"The fortunes of war, Franky. You had no knowledge of the peace. There is none but the Dutch will blame you for that." Richard Lister pointed with his inflamed trumpet of a nose across the channel at the Gull of Moray. "It seems that my lord Cumbrae feels slighted at being excluded from this reunion. See, he comes to join us."

The Buzzard had just launched a boat. It was being rowed down the channel now towards them, Cumbrae himself standing in the stern. The boat bumped against the Goddess's side and the Buzzard came scrambling up the rope ladder onto her deck.

"Franky!" he greeted Sir Francis. "Since we parted, I have not let a single day go past without a prayer for you." He came striding across the deck, his plaid swinging. "And my prayers were heard. That's a bonny wee galleon we have there, and filled to the gunwales with spice and silver, so I hear."

"You should have waited a day or two longer, before you deserted your station. You might have had a share of her." The Buzzard spread his hands in amazement. "But, my dear Franky, what's this you're telling me? I never left my station. I took a short swing into the east, to make certain the Dutchies weren't trying to give us the slip by standing further out to sea. I hurried back to you just as soon as I could. By then you were gone."

"Let me remind you of your own words, sir. "I am completely out of patience. Sixty-five days are enough for me and my brave fellows?" "My words, Franky?" The Buzzard shook his head, "Your ears must have played you false. The wind tricked you, you did not hear me fairly."

Sir Francis laughed lightly. "You waste your talent as Scotland's greatest liar. There is no one here for you to amaze. Both Richard and I know you too well."

"Franky, I hope this does not mean you would try to cheat me out of my fair share of the spoils?" He contrived to look both sorrowful and incredulous. "I agree that I was not in sight of the capture, and I would not expect a full half share. Give me a third and I will not quibble."

"Take a deep breath, sir." Sir Francis laid his hand casually on the hilt of his sword. "That whiff of spice is all the share you'll get from me."

The Buzzard cheered up miraculously and gave a huge, booming laugh. "Franky, my old and dear comrade in arms. Come and dine on board my ship this evening, and we can discuss your lad's initiation into the Order over a dram of good Highland whisky."

"So it's Hal's initiation that brings you back to see me, is it? Not the silver and spice?"

"I know how much the lad means to you, Franky to us all. He's a great credit to you. We all want him to become a Knight of the Order. You have spoken of it often. Isn't that the truth?"

Sir Francis glanced at his son, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Well, then, you'll not get a chance like this again in many a year. Here we are, three Nautonnier Knights together. That's the least number it takes to admit an acolyte to the first degree. When will you find another three Knights to make up a Lodge, out here beyond the Line?"

"How thoughtful of you, sir." And, of course, this has no bearing on a share of my booty that you were claiming but a minute ago? "Sir Francis's tone dripped with irony.

"We'll not speak about that again. You're an honest man, Franky. Hard but fair. You'd never cheat a brother Knight, would you?"

Sir Francis returned long before the midnight watch from dining with Lord Cumbrae aboard S the Gull of Moray. As soon as he was in his cabin he sent Oliver to summon Hal.

"On the coming Sunday. Three days from now. In the forest," he told his son. "It is arranged. We will open the Lodge at moonrise, a little after two bells in the second dog watch."

"But the Buzzard," Hal protested. "You do not like or trust him. He let us down, -" "And yet Cumbrae was right. We might never have three knights gathered together again until we return to England. I must take this opportunity to see you safely ensconced within the Order. The good Lord knows there might not be another chance."

"We will leave ourselves at his mercy while we are ashore," Hal warned. "He might play us foul."

Sir Francis shook his head. "We will never leave ourselves at the mercy of the Buzzard, have no fear of that." He stood up and went to his sea-chest.

"I have prepared against the day of your initiation." He lifted the lid. "Here is your uniform." He came across the cabin with a bundle in his hands and dropped it on his bunk. "Put it on. We will make certain that it fits you." He raised his voice and shouted, "Oliver!"

His servant came at once with his housewife tucked under his arm.

Hal stripped off his old worn canvas jacket and petticoats and, with Oliver's help, began to don the ceremonial uniform of the Order. He had never dreamed of owning such splendid clothing.

The stockings were of white silk and his breeches and doublet of midnight-blue satin, the sleeves slashed with gold. His shoes had buckles of heavy silver and the polished black leather matched that of his cross belt. Oliver combed out his thick tangled locks, then placed the Cavalier officer's Hat on his head. He had picked the finest ostrich feathers in the market of Zanzibar to decorate the wide brim.

When he was dressed, Oliver circled Hal critically, his head on one side, "Tight on the shoulders, Sir Francis. Master Hal grows wider each day. But it will take only a blink of your eye to fix that."

Sir Francis nodded, and reached again into the chest. Hal's heart leaped as he saw the folded cloak in his father's hands. It was the symbol of the Knighthood he had studied so hard to attain. Sir Francis came to him and spread it over his shoulders, then fastened the clasp at his throat. The folds of white hung to his knees and the crimson cross bestrode his shoulders.

Sir Francis stood back and scrutinized Hal carefully. "It lacks but one detail, "he grunted, and returned to the chest. From it he brought out a sword, but no ordinary sword. Hal knew it well. It was a Courtney family heirloom, but still its magnificence awed him. As his father brought it to where he stood, he recited to Hal its history and provenance one more time. "This blade belonged to Charles Courtney, your great-grandfather. Eighty years ago, it was awarded to him by Sir Francis Drake himself for his part in the capture and sack of the port of Rancheria on the Spanish Main. This sword was surrendered to Drake by the Spanish governor, Don Francisco Manso."

He held out the scabbard of chased gold and silver for Hal to examine. It was decorated with crowns and dolphins and sea sprites gathered around the heroic figure of Neptune enthroned. Sir Francis reversed the weapon and offered Hal the hilt. A large star sapphire was set in the pommel. Hal drew the blade and saw at once that this was not just the ornament of some Spanish fop. The blade was of the finest Toledo steel inlaid with gold. He flexed it between his fingers, and rejoiced in its spring and temper.

"Have a care," his father warned him. "You can shave with that edge."

Hal returned it to its scabbard and his father slipped the sword into the leather bucket of Hal's cross belt, then stood back again to examine him critically. "What do you think of him? "he asked Oliver.

"Just the shoulders." Oliver ran his hands over the satin of the doublet. "It's all that wrestling and sword-play that changes his shape. I shall have to resew the seams."

"Then take him to his cabin and see to it." Sir Francis dismissed them both and turned back to his desk. He sat and opened his leather-bound log-book.

Hal paused in the doorway. "Thank you, Father. This sword-" He touched the sapphire pommel at his side, but could not find words to continue. Sir Francis grunted without looking up, dipped his quill and began to write on the parchment page. Hal lingered a little longer in the entrance until his father looked up again in irritation. He backed out and shut the door softly. As he turned into the passage, the door opposite opened and the Dutch Governor's wife came through it so swiftly, in a swirl of silks, that they almost collided.

Hal jumped aside and swept the plumed Hat from his head. "Forgive me, madam."

Katinka stopped and faced him. She examined him slowly, from the gleaming silver buckles of his new shoes upwards. When she reached his eyes she stared into them coolly and said softly, "A pirate whelp dressed like a great nobleman." Then, suddenly, she leaned towards him until her face almost touched his and whispered, "I have checked the panel. There is no opening. You have not performed the task I set you."

"My duties have kept me ashore. I have had no chance." He stammered as he found the Latin words.

"See to it this very night," she ordered, and swept by him. Her perfume lingered and the velvet doublet seemed too hot and constricting. He felt sweat break out on his chest.

Oliver fussed over the fit of his doublet for what seemed to Hal half the rest of the night. He unpicked and re sewed the shoulder seams twice before he was satisfied and Hal fumed with impatience.

When at last he left, taking all Hal's newly acquired finery with him, Hal could barely wait to set the locking bar across his door, and kneel at the bulkhead. He discovered that the panel was fixed to the oak framework by wooden dowels, driven flush with the woodwork.

One at a time, with the point of his dirk, he prised and whittled the dowels from their drilled seats. It was slow work and he dared make no noise. Any blow or rasp would reverberate through the ship.

It was almost dawn before he was able to remove the last peg and then to slip the blade of his dagger into the joint and lever open the panel. It came away suddenly, with a squeal of protesting wood against the oak frame that seemed to carry through the hull, and must surely alarm both his father and the Governor.

With hated breath he waited for terrible retribution to fall around his head, but the minutes slid by, and at last he could breathe again.

Gingerly he stuck his head and shoulders through the rectangular opening. Katinka's toilet cabin beyond was in darkness, but the odour of her perfume made his breath come short. He listened intently, but could hear nothing from the main cabin beyond. Then, faintly, the sound of the ship's bell reached him from the deck above and he realized with dismay that it was almost dawn and in half an hour his watch would begin.

He pulled his head out of the opening, and replaced the panel, securing it with the wooden dowels, but so lightly that they could be removed in seconds.

Would you allow the Buzzard's men ashore?" Hal asked his father respectfully. "Forgive me, IS Father, but can you trust him that far?"

"Can I stop him without provoking a fight?" Sir Francis answered with another question. "He says he needs water and firewood, and we do not own this land or even this lagoon. How can I forbid it to him?"

Hal might have protested further, but his father silenced him with a quick frown, and turned to greet Lord Cumbrae as the keel of his longboat kissed the sands of the beach and he sprang ashore his legs beneath the plaid furred with wiry ginger hair like a bear's.

"All God's blessings upon you this lovely morning, Franky," he shouted, as he came towards them. His pale blue eyes darted restlessly as minnows in a pool under his beetling red brows.

"He sees everything," Hal murmured. "He has come to find out where we have stored the spice."

"We cannot hide the spice. There's a mountain of it," Sir Francis told him. "But we can make the thieving of it difficult for him. "Then he smiled bleakly at Cumbrae as he came up. "I hope I see you in good health, and that the whisky did not trouble your sleep last night, sir."

"The elixir of life, Franky. The blood in my veins." His eyes were bloodshot as they darted about the encampment at the edge of the forest. "I need to fill my water casks. There must be good sweet water hereabouts."

"A mile up the lagoon. There's a stream comes in from the hills."

"Plenty of fish." The Buzzard gestured at the racks of poles set up in the clearing upon which the split carcasses were laid out over the slow smoking fires of green wood. "I'll have my lads catch some for us also. But what about meat? Are there any deer or wild cattle in the forest?"

"There are elephants, and herds of wild buffalo. But all are fierce, and even a musket ball in the ribs does not bring them down. However, as soon as the ship is careened I intend sending a band of hunters inland, beyond the hills to see if they cannot find easier prey."

It was apparent that Cumbrae had asked the question to give himself space, and he hardly bothered to listen to the reply. When his roving eyes gleamed, Hal followed their gaze. The Buzzard had discovered the row of thatched lean-to shelters a hundred paces back among the trees, under which the huge casks of spice stood in serried ranks.

"So you plan to beach and careen the galleon." Cumbrae turned away from the spice store, and nodded across the water at the hull of the Resolution. "A wise plan. If you need help, I have three first-rate carpenters."

"You are amiable," Sir Francis told him. "I may call upon you "Anything to help a fellow Knight. I know you would do the same for me." The Buzzard clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "Now, while my shore party goes to refill the water casks, you and I can look for a suitable place to set up our Lodge. We must do young Hal here proud. It's an important day for him."

Sir Francis glanced at Hal. "Aboli is waiting for you." He nodded to where the big black man stood patiently a little further down the beach.

Hal watched his father walk away with Cumbrae and disappear down a footpath into the forest. Then he ran down to join Aboli. "I am ready at last. Let us go."

Aboli set off immediately, trotting along the beach towards the head of the lagoon. Hal fell in beside him. "You have no sticks?"

"We will cut them from the forest." Aboli tapped the shaft of the hand axe, the steel head of which was hooked over his shoulder, and turned off the beach as he spoke. He led Hal a mile or so inland until they reached a dense thicket. "I marked these trees earlier. My tribe call them the kweti. From them we make the finest throwing sticks."

As they pushed into the dense thicket, there was a explosion of flying leaves and crashing branches as some huge beast charged away ahead of them. They caught a glimpse of scabby black hide and the flash of great bossed horns.

"Nyati!"Aboli told Hal. "The wild buffalo."

"We should hunt him." Hal unslung the musket from his shoulder, and reached -eagerly for the flint and steel in his pouch to light his slow-match. "Such a monster would give us beef for all the ship's company."

Aboli grinned and shook his head. "He would hunt you first. There is no fiercer beast in all the forest, not even the lion. He will laugh at your little lead musket balls as he splits your belly open with those mighty spears he carries atop his head." He swung the axe from his shoulder. "Leave old Nyati be, and we will find other meat to feed the crew."

Aboli hacked at the base of one of the kwed saplings and, with a dozen strokes, exposed the bulbous root. After a few more strokes he lifted it out from the earth, with the stern attached to it.

"My tribe call this club an iwisa," he told Hal, as he worked, and today I will show you how to use it." With skilful cuts, he sized the length of the shaft and peeled away the bark. Then he trimmed the root into an iron hard ball, like the head of a mace. When he was finished he hefted the club, testing its weight and balance. Then he set it aside and searched for another. "We need two each."

Hal squatted on his heels and watched the wood chips fly under the steel. "How old were you when the slavers caught you, Aboli?" he asked, and the dextrous black hands paused in their task.

A shadow passed behind the dark eyes, but Aboli started working again before he replied, "I do not know, only that I was very young."

"DO you remember it, Aboli?"

"I remember that it was night when they came, men in white robes with long muskets. It was so long ago, but I remember the flames in the darkness as they surrounded our village."

"Where did your people live? "Far to the north. On the shores of a great river. My father was a chief yet they dragged him from his hut and killed him like an animal. They killed all our warriors, and spared only the very young children and the women. They chained us together in lines, neck to neck, and made us march, many days, towards the rising of the sun, down to the coast." Aboli stood up abruptly, and picked up the bundle of clubs he had finished. "We talk like old women while we should be hunting."

He started back through the trees the way they had come. When they reached the lagoon again, he looked back at Hal. "Leave your musket and powder flask here. They will be no use to you in the water."

As Hal hid his weapon in the undergrowth, Aboli selected a pair of the lightest and straightest of the iwisa. When Hal returned he handed him the clubs. "Watch me. Do what I do," he ordered, as he stripped off his clothing and waded out into the shallows of the lagoon. Hal followed him, naked, into the thickest stand of reeds.

Waist deep, Aboli stopped and pulled the stems of the tall reeds over his head plaiting them together to form a screen over himself. Then he sank down into the water, until only his head was exposed. Hal took up a position not far from him, and quickly built himself a similar roof of reeds. Faintly he could hear the voices of the watering party from the Gull, and the squeaking of their oars as they rowed back from the head of the lagoon where they had filled their casks from the sweet-water stream.

"GoodV Aboli called softly, "Be ready now, Gundwane! They will put the birds into the air for us."

Suddenly there was a roar of wings, and the sky was filled with the same vast cloud of birds they had watched before. A flight of ducks that looked like English mallard, except for their bright yellow bills, sped in a low Vformation towards where they were hidden.

"Here they come," Aboli warned him, in a whisper, and Hal tensed, his face turned upwards to watch the old drake that led the flock. His– wings were like knife blades as they stabbed the air with quick, sharp strokes.

"Now!" shouted Aboli, and sprang up to his full height, his right arm already cocked back with the iwisa in his fist. As he hurled it cartwheeling into the air, the line of wild duck flared in panic.