Read Online Meadowland by Tom Holt - Free Book Online Page A

way across from Norway to Iceland, then straight back on without hardly any time ashore, and after that lost at sea, in the fog. I had this painful need to get off that crowded deck and be away from everybody else; and if that meant a midnight swim in the cold water, well, small price to pay
    I lay awake all that night, fretting and brooding. Dawn came, but no wind. Bjarni was just sitting there, chin on hand, staring at the open sea with his back to the land. I guess somebody got up, lit a fire, cooked breakfast, went round with the pan and the plates handing it out. Nobody else stirred, we all just stayed where we were, like cattle in stalls over winter. I tried not to look at the land in the distance, but I just couldn’t help it. At times I could feel it, firm under my feet, and all that space around me. I thought about running, or lying down with my arms and legs spread wide without five men yelling at me. It was like my brain had turned into rotten planking and shipworms were burrowing into it.
    That was a long day
    At last it got dark and people slowly dropped off to sleep. By now, I could tell if the others were asleep or not just by listening to how they breathed; I recognised each one’s own special way of snoring, grunting, whuffling, and I counted. Silly thing was, after all that, I could hardly keep my own eyes open. But there: those that know me will tell you that I’ve got a stubborn streak. I don’t think so, but I do know my own mind. I forced myself to stay awake, and when I was the only one left, I got up, tiptoed ever so carefully round Eyvind and the man next to him, and felt for the side of the ship. Soon as I’d got it, I followed it uphill - the decks slanted a little, see - until I felt the anchor rope under my hand. Then it was overboard and into the horrible icy cold water, and a long hard swim to shore.
    Even while I was swimming, I was calling myself every bad name I could remember. Crazy fool, I thought; what if a good wind suddenly gets up while I’m fooling about on shore? Bjarni wouldn’t stop to count heads, he’d call up sail and away, and then I’d be stuck here on this island for the rest of my life, not that that’d be a terribly long time. Or suppose I lost my way swimming about in the dark, went straight on past the ship, got frozen through or cramped up in the water and sank? Risks? I’d have been safer hunting bear with a leek-stalk for a spear. And what for? Because I wanted the stupid firewood? I’d burn it all up drying myself out, always assuming I’d dare light it and explain where I got it from. The thrill of being the first man to set foot on the undiscovered island? Who’d risk his life for something like that? No, I told myself, it’s your bloody wilfulness, like when you were a kid. Dad said don’t climb up on the roof or you’ll fall off, so I climbed up and I fell off. Bjarni said no going ashore, and here I am, freezing my nuts off in the sea in the dark. I wish just once someone’d forbid me to do something sensible, and then I’d go and do it.
    You can imagine how glad I was when I fetched up on the sand, though of course it was spoiled by knowing how far back again it all was. Still, I’d made it; and the light was coming up, very pale in the east, and I could just make out the trees in the distance, and the faint gleam of the sky reflected in a river snaking lazily away I turned round to look at where I’d come ashore and I couldn’t help but notice what a good convenient harbour the bay made; also, after a few yards of sand I was standing on turf, firm and springy. Hadn’t seen it from the ship, of course, because of the angle and the lie of the ground, but there was actually a wide strip of flat grass between the beach and the tree line. As I walked through it I could feel how lush and thick it was, not like the short, coarse, wiry stuff back home. Good pasture, I thought..
    Then I walked along a bit, and next thing I knew I was on my face in