by G M Eppers
We could feel the deck below us rising and falling, tilting slightly this way or that with the ocean currents. After what felt like a long time, I called out, “Sylvia, what time have you got?”
A moment later, after she’d translated it for Eastern Time, the answer came back. “4:33.”
“Anyone find anything useful?”
Crickets. No one wanted to say no, but no one could say yes, either. Then, in the silence, I heard, “Possibly.”
It was McGrone, who was kneeling and bending over the crate he’d been sitting on, prying at the top with something. As I stepped nearer I saw it was one of the medals from his shirt. Tiny black holes testified to the empty space under his patch pocket. Miraculously, he had one of the nails in the lid halfway out. He grabbed it with his hand, wiggling it around and pulling with clear effort until if finally came free. “Aha!” He held the nail up triumphantly. Tossing it aside, he inched over and went to work on the next. Only five more to go. The medal was hexagonal in shape and he was able to wedge one of the straight edges under the head of the nail, but there wasn’t a lot of clearance to push up. He was very focused and persistent.
“I don’t suppose that’s a crate of crowbars,” I said, thinking that this method was akin to digging out of prison with a spoon. A glance in Sylvia’s direction revealed that her progress was about the same and the blade of her knife had bent slightly. She flipped it over and pried the other way to try to straighten it.
Badger tilted his head to see the label on McGrone’s crate, in this case an aluminum plate screwed onto one side. “Oh my God, it’s Pule!” he said.
McGrone looked up. “It’s what?”
Pule is the most expensive cheese in the world. It sells for thousands of dollars an ounce even without being Uber, made with goat’s milk mixed with the milk of a specific breed of donkey located only in the Balkans. Sir Haughty came over. “Pule, you say?” As our expert on cheeses, he knew about its rarity. It was likely he’d never seen any up close.
McGrone left the nail part way out and went to loosen the next one. “But what is it?”
“Leverage,” I said. “Badger, did you see any more crates marked Pule?” Badger immediately shook his head. “This one box is more valuable than everything else in here put together.”
From the other side of the hold, Roxy said, “So if we threaten the Pule we can bargain for our freedom?”
“Possibly,” I replied. “We can hide it in our pockets, wherever it will fit. Threaten to throw it overboard. Not sure it will control fifty people as bloodthirsty as they are.” Having it split up between us would stop them from picking off anyone as an example to the others, but at the same time they might be willing to sacrifice part of it to intimidate us in return. I wished Bobby had been taken with us. He knew more about VAVAVA than any of us and could analyze their motivations better.
McGrone now had the first nail out and three more partially out, but stuck, as he moved on to the fifth nail of the six in the lid. “I have an idea that could improve the odds, actually. But I’ll need some other things. You said you saw a bag with pictures of plants on it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s probably fertilizer. Bring it over here.”
I didn’t know where he was going with this, but I went over to drag the fifty pound bag to McGrone’s location. As I did so, Nitro jumped up. He seemed to know exactly what McGrone was looking for. “I saw a bag of charcoal briquettes.” His bag was only twenty pounds and he carried it over easily, pulling out the long black thread that sealed one end. Jet black briquettes tumbled out of the bag as he let it fall gently to the floor. “We can even use this!” he said, holding onto the black thread.
McGrone and Badger had given up on getting the nail out and were applying brute strength to pulling off the lid of the crate. It was still slow work and took a couple of minutes just to get one edge up high enough for them to get their fingers underneath. After several more heave hos, the wood cracked and the lid broke in two. Badger unfolded a layer of clear plastic and reached inside. His hand emerged wrapped around a block of pristine white cheese.
“May I?” asked Sir Haughty from just behind him. His voice was breathy with awe.
Badger handed it over his shoulder and reached for another. Sir Haughty took the cheese in his hand. We had no way to know if it was contaminated with Uber, so he dared not taste it. But he sniffed it. I could see the longing and regret on his face as he pinched off a piece to see the consistency. “I can’t be certain without tasting it,” he said, “but I’m reasonably sure this is, indeed, Pule. Amazing!” He took another whiff, savoring the aroma.
McGrone was looking around at the bags we’d brought over, but he took a block of the Pule from Badger. “We’re all hungry, but don’t eat it, sir. It might be Uber,” Badger warned him. “Don’t even lick your fingers.”
“Of course,” McGrone said. He also pinched the edges, broke the block in half and began to play with it like clay. “And it’s white. Perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” The twins were sitting again, looking like they wanted popcorn to enjoy he entertainment. Something was happening here, but it was almost impossible to see what.
Nitro, helping McGrone keep his secret a little longer, said, “We don’t have everything we need yet. Look around, Badger. There’s got to be a cheese in here that’s packed in red wax.”
The rest of us, unable to reliably read the Norwegian labels, watched as Badger crept into the dark recesses. A flashlight would have been fabulous, but they were in the confiscated HEP belts. He raised some crates on one edge, angling the labeled side toward the light so he could read it. He came back from one side of the hold carrying a burlap sack. “Found dinner,” he said, setting it in the middle of the light. He crossed to the other side, still looking, focused on his mission. Nitro moved to check out the sack and it turned out to be a good supply of mixed nuts. He took a handful and found some smaller crates he could use as a nutcracker. Just when I thought we were going to be out of luck on whatever McGrone wanted the red wax for, Badger came back carrying an oblong box the size of a kitchen drawer. “Got it.”
“Good,” said McGrone.
“No, gouda. It’s almost always in red wax. Help me get this open.” McGrone handed Badger the medal he’d been using as a pry bar and Badger went to work. Another time check put us at almost quarter after five. It was beginning to look like the pirates were going to wait for dark, like Roxy had suggested, which gave us less than two hours to complete whatever McGrone had in mind before we had to douse the light so our eyes would adjust.
With all the parts assembled, he explained what he wanted to do. Nitro and Badger agreed to help, but it was going to take some time. They huddled together, each with a pile of mixed nuts to munch on, where the light was brightest and began to work, quickly devising an assembly line of sorts. Sir Haughty stood by to distribute supplies to each as needed and set aside partially assembled pieces carefully into an empty crate.
While they worked, Roxy, Sylvia, the twins and I moved back to give them room, sitting on crates and bags that weren’t needed. We each took some nuts as we passed the burlap sack and the sound of cracking joined the scraping and squishing. Roxy kept looking up to the ceiling, listening for approaching footsteps, though I could discern no sound coming from above. I propped a particularly large and heavy bag up on the short end so I could lean my back against it and slipped off one of my boots to use as a nutcracker. I guess Sylvia felt the need to reassure us. “This is going to work,” she said. “And I’ve already figured out some defensive moves.” Standing, she tried out some rapid hand movements, moving her arms forcefully in something resembling martial arts. She spun, kicking and jabbing at empty air.
“Lead with the right,” Agnes told her, working on a walnut. “That forces them to counter with their left, almost universally their weaker side.”
“How is that going to stop you from getting chopped to ribbons by an axe?” I asked. “I see
you losing several fingers, no matter which hand you lead with.”
With two fingers, Sylvia pointed to her own eyes, only one of which could actually see. In sunlight, her irises are a brilliant green, but in the dimness of the hold they looked disturbingly gray and lifeless. “These are my secret weapon. Wait until we get up there. You’ll see.” She jumped up on top of a crate, then climbed up two more layers until her head was brushing the ceiling, continuing to practice kicks and thrusts. She was getting cabin fever, working herself up for an epic fight. I didn’t like the idea of an epic fight involving bare blades.
I was not anxious to get up on deck, and her display did not make me feel better about our chances. I leaned back and closed my eyes, sucking pulp from a Brazil nut out of my teeth. It was nice and peaceful. I could hear the others quietly consulting with each other and the squishy sound of squeezed cheese, accompanied by a little low cursing. I felt the slow sway of the boat on the open water. Unlike Sylvia, I was not anxious. In fact, just the opposite, I was allowing these things to lull me into a gentle doze. I was exhausted after my long day, and my mind felt cluttered and messy. After about ten minutes of quiet meditation, I was feeling better and more focused. Sometimes, that’s all it takes. Gently, Avis took my hand, but I didn’t open my eyes. In a whisper, she said, “Billings, we have to tell you something.”
Lifting my head, I opened my eyes. “Yes?”
She turned her head to look at the assembly crew but they were all focused on their work. Still, she spoke very quietly. “First off, love the shorts. You should wear them more often. Second, before, when we were in the water, we saw Helena.”
My back got ramrod straight, coming up away from the supporting bag. “What?”
“We saw her, too,” Roxy said, speaking for Sylvia.
I looked from one worried face to the other. “And?”
“And we also love the shorts,” Roxy shot back.
Avis resumed the story. “I’m not sure what they saw, but she came to us when we were drowning and it looked like she was trying to hug us. I don’t know. Welcome us, or something. We thought we were going to die.”
“Same here.” This time Sylvia looked to Roxy to confirm and they both nodded. “She tried to wrap her arms around me. When she couldn’t, she vanished. She didn’t say anything. Maybe she can’t speak under water any more than we can.”
“And there’s something else,” said Avis. I waited for her to continue. “She looked … different.”
“Different how?”
Agnes said, “Maybe it was the water.”
From Sylvia: “It wasn’t the water.”
“How did she look different?” I asked again, then I decided to make a guess. “Was she faded?”
They were surprised at my accuracy. “Yes!” Avis responded. “Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable. I saw a fish through her neck.”
“You mean it swam through her neck.”
“No, it was behind her, but I saw it anyway. Like through a piece of cheesecloth or something. In a silhouette.”
My eyes drifted down toward the floor. “I saw it happen. My first night on the aircraft carrier, I put some … some of her ashes in the ocean and she faded right in front of my eyes. I didn’t have time to say anything about it. Someone else came and she disappeared. I haven’t seen her since.”
Avis inched closer to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Where is she now? You don’t have the bag with you.”
“No. She’s –“ I corrected myself, “Most of her is in my cabin on the Ike. Bobby, my instructor, will take good care of it, I’m sure. Once classes started it wasn’t safe to keep wearing the pack.” I was wishing she would show up in the hold. Maybe she knew about the fading and what it meant by now. It felt like I’d seen her more often during the divorce than I had lately, and her death was feeling too real and too permanent. If this wasn’t going to last, why did she waste so much time away from us? She should be here. Of course, there was McGrone to consider. She couldn’t possibly show herself with him here. I forced myself to look more confident than I felt. “We’ll get back to the Ike and pick it up.” I wasn’t sure I’d be doing any more distribution until I knew what was going on. It hurt my heart to think that throwing her away was literally throwing her away.
“We thought you should know,” whispered Avis.
I gave her a peck on the forehead and stroked her hair, then reached further to brush my fingers across Agnes’ cheek as well.
The five of us stayed there while the others worked on their creative pursuit, casually sorting through our pile of nuts and whacking them with my boot. Eventually, even Sylvia calmed down and sat, watching and waiting and checking her wristwatch, but she helped herself to some almonds and peanuts.
It took the better part of an hour before Nitro brought over what they had made. By then, the girls and I had had our fill of nuts and I’d put my boot back on my foot. Nitro carried it gently, displaying it on his open palm for all of us to see. “What do you think?”
I was amazed. It looked like he was carrying a bundle of six sticks of dynamite. Arranged in a circle with the 6th stick in the middle, they had manipulated the Pule into rods and wrapped them each in red wax from the Gouda. From one end of each stick, a thin black line extended. “Wow! That’s amazing. Looks great. But won’t they notice when it doesn’t blow up?” It was a lot of work for a distraction that would last approximately ten seconds.
“Well, we didn’t test it, but in theory, if we can get the ‘fuses’ into one of their torches, it will sparkle at least for a little bit. We coated the string with coal dust and some fertilizer, which has potassium nitrate in it. It should put on a show long enough to scare some of them. That is, if I got the ratio right. I didn’t have anything to measure with,” said the man who had blown up his high school lab and part of the cafeteria. “Maybe we can disarm them and get some weapons.”
Badger had come up behind Nitro, looking proud. “Unlike real Vikings, whose heyday was a couple hundred years before Europe discovered gunpowder, these wannabes will recognize it. They will know that explosives will do more damage than their axes and spears, even their flaming arrows if they decide to do that. We don’t need it to actually explode, just to scare them enough so we can get them off guard.”
“That’s brilliant,” I conceded. “Major,” I said more loudly to reach across the hold to where McGrone was working on creating more sticks, “You did this?”
“I sculpted in my youth,” he said.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were one of the counterfeiters.”
He shook his head, but with an air of pride. “No, but dealing with them the last few weeks sparked, if you’ll pardon the pun, the idea.” He rolled more pule into a tube shape, while Badger carefully peeled more red wax from another block of Gouda. “I wouldn’t have known how to make them spark, of course,” McGrone continued, “that was Nitro’s doing. And it’s an especial delight using the world’s most expensive cheese to do it. It’s an excellent medium.”
Sylvia had taken the ersatz dynamite from Nitro to examine more closely. “How are we going to hide it without smooshing it? And we’ll need more. We don’t know which of us will have the opportunity to get near a torch.”
Roxy twisted to look at her bow. “This bow is really poufy. I can probably tie a bundle to the small of my back.”
McGrone, possibly out of contrition, insisted on hiding one inside his uniform shirt. He pulled the shirttails out of his pants slightly to make room, using our sample to check for size. It could work, if the Norwegians didn’t remember how trim he was. He now looked like an old pot-bellied Army major from a really bad war movie. Once that was settled, he went back to rolling tubes of pule. With the process figured out, the second set of six was finished well before 6 p.m. and he started on a third. We could always use individual sticks, which were also easier to hide, but a single stick wasn’t as intimidating as one of the bundles.
By 7 p.m., we had
three bundles and three individual sticks. We extended our time limit just long enough to get the pieces hidden inside our clothing. McGrone returned his medal, movie prop or not and none the worse for wear aside from some minor scratches in the highly polished finish, to its place of honor below his patch pocket. Roxy, McGrone and Sir Haughty each took a bundle, and the twins and I each took an individual stick. I carefully slid mine inside my waistband at the small of my back, after which I was not comfortable sitting down. I remained standing as Sylvia, unencumbered by cheese dynamite, pulled the chain, plunging us into darkness.
It was very quiet. I could hear people breathing and became even more aware of the uneven motion of the deck beneath my feet. My stomach rumbled from hunger and I knew I probably was not the only one. We were surrounded by cheese we dare not eat, like a castaway on a deserted island surrounded by salt water he dared not drink. I took deep breaths to drive oxygen rich blood to all my muscles. We listened for the clanking that would indicate a Norwegian opening the hatch door. Without a watch, I couldn’t tell how long we waited, but it felt like around twenty minutes. By then, our eyes had adjusted and I could see the scattered crates in dim silhouette and my team dressed in shades of gray.
Above us, the metal lock clanked.
Three If By Chance They’d Had Planes in 1775
Chapter One
Soft, flickering light flowed through the open hatch, which revealed a dark sky dotted with hundreds of stars. Torches were lit in several places around the edge of the deck, the flames crackling and jumping as the ship rocked on the ocean current. I didn’t feel the thrum of a motor through the deck, so I believed we were either anchored or drifting. I tried to see as much as possible as I led the group up the steps to the deck. A Norwegian, now wearing slightly more fur than before, waved me up with what sounded like a grunt. He held a torch in one hand. I glanced back, giving a brief shake of my head to the others. Not too soon. Wait.