The Sea Runners - Ivan Doig [71]
"The island," Karlsson chose, and gratefully they aimed to shore on its inland side.
After the sopping day, a sopping camp.
The canoemen had come in near the south reach of the island, where several high humps of boulder weighted the shore. Into this rough outwall of rocks they lodged an end of the mast shelter and so kept that corner of the weather out. But others got in, this rain evidently willing to probe toward humankind for however long it took to find some. The Swedes managed to coax a choking fire long enough to heat beans and tea, then gave up on the evening.
Surprise it was, then, when Karlsson woke sometime later and saw that the sky now held stars.
... One gain, Wennberg's a mute these mornings. No knowing what's prowling in his head, but at least it's not jumping out his mouth....
Wennberg was fussing the breakfast fire to life. The weather seemed to have cleansed itself the day before, was bright as a widow's new window today. Karlsson wanted the canoe to be on the water by now but for once he had overslept, Wennberg's fire was proving a damp and balky proposition, Braaf had drifted off north saying he would check the ocean horizon for lurking storm—dawdle eats hours and Karlsson decided all three of them were feeding it more than enough this morning.
"You've about found fire"—an oblique urging sometimes would lodge in Wennberg—"so I'd better fetch Braaf." Karlsson started away toward the north end of the island.
"If I'd arms for three paddles y'could leave the little bastard there and yourself with him."
... Coming awake, is he? Count on Wennberg, hammer for a tongue and the world his anvil....
Just then Braaf arrived to sight. Running, bent low.
Past Karlsson he raced, toward the squatting Wennberg. The careful stack of sticks Wennberg just had managed to puff into blaze, Braaf kicked to flinders.
Wennberg gaped, sputtered. "Braaf, I'll braid your guts—"
"Koloshes," panted Braaf. "Whole village. Across there."
Karlsson grabbed the spyglass out of the canoe and followed Braaf back around the beach rocks.
A high round little island, like a kettle turned down, sat upcoast perhaps a half a mile from where Karlsson and Braaf and Wennberg crouched now behind a boulder on their own island, and just inshore from the kettle island, gray and low under the coastal ridge of forest the longhouses Were ranked.
Karlsson flung a look along their own beach to be certain sure: the canoe and camp were from sight behind the tumble of rock. Then with the glass Karlsson counted. Fifteen of the almost flat-roofed structures. If these Koloshes lived as many to a longhouse as the Sitkans, families all the way out to Adam...
"People on those roofs," Karlsson reported in puzzlement. "Children, looks like."
"Upside down bastards anyway, these goddamn Koloshes," Wennberg stated. "What're they squatting up therefor?"
Karlsson studied further. "Watching the sea, seem to be. They—"
Just then commotion erupted atop the roofs. Its reason already was found by Braaf, pointing into the stretch of ocean they'd paddled through in yesterday's cloud.
Craft were coming in there, a line of them. Blade forms on the water. But all aimed the same, one after another, straight as straight, toward the kettle island.
The glass ratified what was in the minds of the three Swedes. "Canoes," Karlsson reported. Braaf and Wennberg were tranced beside him, watching the flotilla. "Several paddlers each."
The way the canoes stayed a steady space from each other ... Karlsson puzzled at the pattern. As if they were strung into place. Or harnessed—
"Something in tow, there."
The tiny tunnel of sight brought it then to Karlsson.
... Melander, Melander, this you ought've seen. Fishers of monsters...
"Whale."
The news did not register on Braaf and Wennberg. Karlsson repeated.
"They're towing a whale."
"Whale? Whale, my ass," Any manner of doubt not known to Wennberg had not bo en invented yet. "Whei'e'd they get a whale? You've come down with the vapors, Karlsson, hand me that glass—"
Wennberg focused in turn and the same