A Prince of Norway: Nicolas & Sydney: Book 2 (The Hansen Series - Nicolas & Sydney)

by Kris Tualla

  Nicolas laughed. “Then I believe our cabins will not be too uncomfortable for you. Have you anything down there now?”

  Leif nodded. “My saddlebag.”

  “Go on down and get it, then come to my cabin. I shall explain to Lady Hansen that we are now a party of five.” Nicolas waved his dismissal.

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Leif backed away. “I’ll be right there, Sir.” Then he turned and ran full tilt across the deck, disappearing down the steps of the ladder.

  Chapter Thirty One

  May 7, 1821

  Shipboard

  Christiania to London

  It was Dagmar’s dagger.

  “I don’t expect ‘she’ will have need of it.” Sydney handed the knife back to Nicolas, who rewrapped it in the handkerchief.

  “And Espen is gone, not to return.” He tucked it in the bottom of Sydney’s trunk.

  “What do you believe it to be worth?”

  Nicolas rested fists on his hips. “Enough to buy a bit of land. Or start a business. I’ll hold onto it until Leif becomes of age, then he can decide. At the least, he shan’t be penniless.”

  “And he will receive some recompense for what he has been put through.” Sydney regarded Nicolas, head cocked, “Are you taking him on as an employee? Or as family?”

  Nicolas thought a moment. “Family. But as a cousin, not a son. He will never supplant Stefan. Or Kirstie, for that matter.”

  “You are related to his father, are you not?” Sydney pointed out.

  “If his father was truly Sebastian Fredericksen, he was my mother’s first cousin.”

  Sydney tapped her chin and continued her regard. “So will you call him Leif Fredericksen? Or Leif Sebastiansen?”

  Nicolas’s brow dipped. “I cannot say. Perhaps I should let him choose, eh?”

  “There lies the one advantage to being a bastard.” Sydney chuckled.

  Nicolas twisted to look at the small clock on the desk. “I wonder what’s taking him so long. He should be here by this time.”

  He took the two steps necessary to cross the small cabin and reached for the door handle. It pushed from outside as he pulled it open, and Leif tumbled in. He righted himself and grinned up at Nicolas through a split lip and swelling eye.

  “Trist jeg er sen!” Sorry I am late.

  Sydney gasped. Nicolas lifted Leif’s chin with a knuckle. “Hva skjedde til du?” What happened to you?

  Leif shrugged off the saddlebag and dropped his rolled blanket in the floor. “En av «rottene» tok friheter.” One of the 'rats' took liberties.

  The corner of Nicolas’s mouth twitched. “Og hvilken staten er denne «rotta» i nå?” And what state is this ‘rat’ in now?

  “Han pissed seg og passerte ut.” He pissed himself and passed out.

  “With your help, I imagine,” Nicolas muttered.

  Leif nodded. His grin didn’t fade.

  Nicolas sighed. “I best go talk to the captain. I shall need to pay your passage, in any case. Wash up here, then. Lady Hansen will see you safe in the next cabin, with Stefan and Kirstie. Is the floor all right for tonight?”

  “I am used to it.”

  “Du trenger enda et teppe?” Sydney asked. Do you need another blanket?

  “No, ma’am,” Leif answered in English, and grinned.

  May 8, 1821

  The light in the small window was the color of polished pewter. Indigo-bottomed clouds with silver crests hung low in the sky. Dawn struggled to make headway, as the ship rocked forward in the same quest. Nicolas opened the window. A spray of salt air moistened his cheeks.

  “Looks to be a rough day ahead,” he grumbled.

  A series of shouts from the children’s cabin catapulted him from the bed. He flung his door open and collided with Stefan in the corridor.

  “LEIF IS HERE! He’s in my room!” he squealed, hopping and pointing.

  Nicolas smacked his palm against his chest and leaned on the wall as relief buckled his knees. “Yes, son, I know,” he gasped and wiped sweat from his brow. “You gave me quite a start, do you realize that?”

  “How did he get here?” Stefan shouted, his father’s near-apoplexy unnoticed. Another cabin door cracked open and a vulgar shhhh! emanated before it slammed shut.

  Nicolas pushed Stefan back into his cabin and followed, closing the door. Leif bounced a tearful Kirstie, the little girl frightened by her rude awakening. She reached for her father as soon as she saw him. Nicolas took her from Leif and she wrapped her chubby arms around his neck and tried to walk up his chest. He succeeded in settling her, then sat on the small desk.

  Stefan rocked next to Leif and poked him repeatedly. Leif laughed and fended off the good-natured attack. Stefan giggled with unrestrained joy.

  “It seems, son, that Leif was so distraught at losing his friend, that he snuck onto the ship before it sailed,” Nicolas spoke Norse for Leif’s benefit.

  “You did?” Stefan’s eyes widened.

  “He did. And that was against the law, was it not?” Nicolas addressed Leif. Leif nodded and blushed.

  Stefan panicked. “Is he going to jail?” he asked in Norse.

  “No,” Nicolas hastened to assure his son. “I have paid his passage to London. And after that…” He paused to enjoy the coming announcement, frowning to throw Stefan off. “After that, I will pay his passage right back.”

  “Back?” Stefan’s shoulder drooped. Leif’s mouth began to twitch.

  “Yes, back. Back to Missouri.”

  “But, Pappa! Why can’t he—what?” Stefan’s mouth hung open.

  “Back to Missouri. Leif is coming to work for me.”

  Stefan spun to face his friend. “Are you going to live with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Forever?” It was such a wondrous thought, Stefan needed to make sure.

  Leif shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “He needs to learn English, Stefan. Can you help him with that?” Nicolas laid his hand heavily on his son’s shoulder. He shook it a little to make sure he had Stefan’s attention. “And he will go to school with you when he is not working.”

  “Ja. Yes. You. Learn. English,” he pointed and spoke slowly to Leif.

  “Yes. Learn. English.” He grinned and messed up Stefan’s hair.

  May 10, 1821

  London

  Nicolas stood on the dock and oversaw the unloading of their things. He pointed to the largest trunks. “They can be stored here until we sail next. Put the smaller ones over there.” A cab waited, the driver ready to load the luggage. Then came the statues.

  Nicolas motioned to the head longshoreman. “A word, sir?”

  The bowlegged crew chief waddled his portly frame toward Nicolas. “Aye?”

  Nicolas draped his arm over the shorter man’s shoulder and turned him away from the crew. He glanced backward for effect. “There is a delicate issue with these particular items.”

  “Oh?” the veteran grumbled. “Such as?”

  “Well.” Nicolas lowered his voice. “These carvings have been in my family for eight hundred years. Long before God-fearing men came to the outer corners of Scandinavia, you see.”

  “Aye. So?”

  “So… they carry a tiny, little—curse—if you will.”

  The man jerked back. “What sort o’ curse?”

  Nicolas waved his hand dismissively and glanced at the man’s private area. “It’s nothing really. I just wouldn’t want any of your men to find their members, um, diminished.”

  “Diminished?” The longshoreman clapped his hands over his crotch. “And how might tha’ happen, exactly?”

  Nicolas glanced at the crew behind them, drawn by the words ‘curse’ and their chief’s protective stance. “It seems Thor was a bit of a vindictive god. He didn’t care for men messing with things he considered his.”

  “Are them statues his?” The chief’s eyes darted to the offending carvings.

  “They were,” Nicolas clarified. “He made them a gift.”r />
  “Whose are they now?” One of the longshoremen’s voices floated above the din of the dock. Nicolas turned, his eyes pinned every man who faced him.

  “Mine,” he growled.

  Someone scoffed, “Ye don’t go believin’ that line o’ hooey, do ye?” A few men shuffled their feet, eyes darting to discern who stood on which side of the curse story. And then they sized up the huge Norwegian.

  Nicolas’s long hair was loose in the wind and he had not shaved in a week. His hunting dirk was at his side, clearly in view. He clenched his jaw, knowing the scar would become visible. He pulled to his full height, expanded his chest and clenched his fists. The chief took another step back.

  Nicolas cocked one eyebrow. “You are free to challenge the curse, if you so choose.”

  The men stared at him, unmoving.

  He pointed at their trousers. “But I will not be held responsible, should your pricks shrink to the size of your pinkies. Mark my words!” He held his little finger high over his head.

  The chief cleared his throat. “I am not s’sure we’re willin’ to hold these blasted things. How long did ye say?”

  Nicolas turned slowly to face him. “One week. But, I understand your reluctance, sir. It is a considerable risk.” He paused and slid his hand into his greatcoat pocket. “So I shall pay you double the regular rate.”

  The longshoreman brightened at that. Nicolas held out the coins and the man reached to claim them.

  “There is one week’s storage in advance. If, when I return, the statues are unmolested, and your men intact, then I shall pay you the same amount again. Are we agreed?”

  “Well, I s’pose we can bide. One week only?” He hefted the coins and counted them with his fingers.

  “If my family and I can book passage within that time, as I expect, yes.”

  He narrowed his eyes up at Nicolas. “And if not?”

  “You will be paid double again. And,” he glanced at the man who spoke the challenge with an Irish lilt, “I will even pay for a priest to pray for your protection, so long at the statues are left absolutely alone.”

  “Yes, sir! Rest assured, your property will be well cared for, it will.” The chief slapped him on the back. “Hop to it, ye worthless scrubs!” he bellowed.

  “Thank you, sir.” Nicolas dipped his chin. “You are clearly a gentleman of honor. It is a pleasure doing business with you.”

  ***

  Sydney and her three charges waited in the comfort of a teahouse three blocks from the dock. Sipping sweet tea and munching scones, they watched hordes of busy Londoners rush through the streets.

  “Det er mye folk her,” Leif’s eyes followed them.

  “There are lots of people here,” Stefan said in English.

  “Dere are loats of pipple here?” Leif repeated. Stefan nodded.

  Nicolas joined them, pulling up a chair and motioning to the waiter. He circled a pointed finger over the refreshments, and the waiter nodded.

  “Is everything taken care of?” Sydney pushed the last scone toward him.

  Nicolas ran a knuckle under his nose, smiling. “It is. I will tell you about it in the cab.”

  Leif pointed out the window. “Dere are loats of pipple here!”

  Nicolas looked at him, eyebrows arched in surprise. “Yes there are.”

  When they finished, Nicolas gave the cabbie instructions, then climbed in with his expanded family.

  At the open window, Stefan’s hair blew around his face. “Where are we going, Pappa?”

  “I thought we might take a drive through the city. We will go past the Tower and end up at Buckingham Palace.”

  Leif’s eyes bounced from lips to lips as he struggled to follow the conversation. Kirstie pointed at him, twisting to look at her mother.

  “Leif,” Sydney answered. “Can you say Leif?”

  “Lay!” she grinned at him. “Lay!” He smiled back. That, he understood.

  At the palace, Nicolas herded everyone out of the cab. He asked the cabbie to unload the trunks.

  “Right ‘ere?” the man frowned.

  “Yes. We are being met.” Nicolas paid the confused cabbie and sent him on his way. Sydney withheld comment until the man drove off.

  “What are you doing, Nicolas?” she asked, standing in front of Buckingham Palace with an adolescent, a boy and a toddler, and three traveling trunks. Nicolas waved down another cab.

  “I want to confuse any followers who may have decided I should not have left Christiania as I did.” Leif’s head swiveled at the city name.

  “Christiania?” he asked. “Du tenker på å dra tilbake?”

  “No,” Nicolas shook his head and spoke slowly, “I am not thinking of going back.”

  “Note t’inking of going bach,” Leif repeated and heaved a relieved sigh.

  They rode the second cab until they were about five miles from the docks. Nicolas pounded the roof and the cabbie stopped in front of an inn. Nicolas went inside and reappeared a moment later, shaking his head. He spoke to the driver, and then climbed back inside. They rode for another half mile, and stopped in front of a hotel. Nicolas climbed out again, and this time emerged smiling.

  “We shall stay here,” he stated. The cabbie unloaded the trunks and carried them inside.

  While Sydney began the task of settling everyone in, Nicolas eyed Leif’s too-large clothing. He realized suddenly the boy had not changed his trousers since Nicolas had found him out.

  “Have you any other clothing?” he asked Leif in Norse. Leif bit his lips and shook his head. “Well, we shall have to remedy that. Stefan!”

  He turned away from the window. “Yes, Pappa?”

  “Come along. We’re going to buy Leif some respectable attire. And teach him some more English, in the process.”

  Nicolas slipped his arm around Sydney’s waist. He glanced toward the open door of their bedchamber. A large bed dominated the room. “I will enjoy your company this evening, wife, and make up for my absence this afternoon.”

  “I look forward to it.” Her smile was slow and soft.

  ***

  Nicolas sat at the tailor’s shop and watched in disbelief as Leif undressed. Nicolas knew the boy was skinny, but he did not realize how skinny. His abdomen was a concave space between sharp hipbones. His chest sunk under his collar bones and his ribs were countable. He also sported a variety of scars on his back and buttocks.

  Nicolas pulled his attention aside and instructed the tailor, “Smallclothes first.” The man nodded and pulled out some pre-made short pants and a sleeveless shirt. Leif stepped behind a curtain and changed into them.

  “Do they fit?” Nicolas called out in Norse.

  “Ja. Um, yes.”

  “Good. Come back out, son.” Leif stepped around the curtain. The tailor stepped forward and began to take measurements while he made suggestions. Leif tried not to squirm or laugh, but Stefan had no such compunction. He giggled freely. It was not helpful. Nicolas shot him a sobering look.

  “He’ll need four breeches and six shirts at the least.” The tailor looked at Leif over his spectacles. “How old are you?”

  “He is thirteen,” Nicolas answered.

  The tailor’s eyes shifted. “Is he a dummy?”

  “He doesn’t speak English. Yet. He’s from… Sweden.”

  Stefan frowned but Nicolas shook his head.

  The tailor continued his task. “Ah. Well. At his age, he probably should have a waistcoat or two, and frock coat.” He looked to Nicolas for confirmation. “When do you need them?”

  “In five days. We will sail in six days for France.” Nicolas frowned at Stefan to be quiet.

  Stefan snapped his mouth shut and swallowed his objection. Nicolas glanced at Leif, relieved that the adolescent did not understand him.

  The tailor stroked his chin. “I can do it. At the end of the business day, in five days?”

  Nicolas paid the tailor half his fee while Leif got dressed. “Have you anything we might take with us today
?”

  “Pappa?” Stefan whispered.

  “Yes, the smallclothes. And I have two white linen shirts that will fit him.” The tailor set the items on his counter and began to wrap the apparel.

  “Pappa?” Stefan pulled on his sleeve.

  “Ingen vi ikke drar etter Frankrike.” No, we are not going to France.

  “Oh.”

  The tailor glanced from father to son and cleared his throat. Leif emerged from the curtain, dressed once again in the grooms’ hand-me-downs. The tailor tsked. Nicolas accepted the package and handed it to Leif.

  Once on the street, Stefan looked up at his father. “Why did you say Leif is from Sweden and we are going to France?”

  Nicolas debated whether to tell the truth. He ruffled his son’s hair. “Not everyone needs to know our business, eh?”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  May 15, 1821

  London

  Nicolas burst into the hotel room waving a newspaper. Sydney and Leif looked up from their English lesson.

  “They did it!” He looked incredulous. “They actually did it!”

  “Did what?” Sydney pulled the paper from Nicolas’s hand. It was folded to the third page. The headline read: Norway’s Storting Abolishes Nobility. She read the article out loud.

  “By an easy margin the Storting, Norway’s parliament, voted on May the 4th to abolish all future titles of nobility. Those holding titles may retain them until their death, at which time the titles will not be passed on to their heirs.”

  Sydney looked up at Nicolas. “Did you expect this?”

  “I did. They were quite taken with the American idea of equality.”

  Sydney returned to the article. “A plan to remove the Swedish king, and restore the throne of Norway to a nobleman of Norse descent, was quashed by the vote and is no longer under consideration.”

  Nicolas sank into a chair. “I left just in time.”

  Sydney read silently, then turned the page. “Look at this!” she exclaimed. “They did select a flag!”

  Stefan dropped his book and jumped off the window seat. “Let me see!” Sydney laid the paper on the table and four heads peered at the drawing.