Anxious to know what had happened to the others, and what his fate would be, Erik had to wait impatiently, not daring to unclip.
At last, a flood of lamplight shone on the damp walls of the room as the rough door was opened. A shadow, which resolved itself as Anonemuss, arms trussed behind him, was pushed stumbling forward.
“You’re still alive, at least. Did you see any of the others?” Erik asked eager for news.
“Shut up, kid.”
So Erik held his tongue, watching his companion. Anonemuss sat, occasionally shaking his head in disbelief and sighing.
The door opened again. Injeborg and Sigrid were thrown down beside them. They had barely time to cry out in recognition, when a powerful command filled the room.
“Silence.”
A bright, sickening light was shone on the prisoners from the doorway. Behind it stood two shadows, one redolent with a maliciousness that matched the voice that had stilled them.
“Duke Raymond, allow me to introduce my traveling companions: Anonemuss, Cindella, Injeborg, and Sigrid.” The vampyre was mocking now, and Erik’s anger at the traitor made it seem incredible that they had once shared a seductive and trusting intimacy.
“Well done, Count Illystivostich. Unfortunate about the others. I could have used their gold.”
“You will find there is ample left between them.”
“Oh, indeed.” Duke Raymond rubbed his hands. “I wonder, sir, is it a coincidence that the three women dragonslayers survived? Do women adventurers have a particularly fortunate constitution, or do your own tastes alter the spinning of fate’s dice?”
The vampyre chuckled, a sinister laugh, stiletto-sharp, scraping over Cindella’s throat.
“Skip the witty banter. What do you want from us?” Anonemuss was brusque with barely suppressed anger.
“Oh, I don’t think we can do that,” Duke Raymond replied with a laugh. “What is the satisfaction of being a villain if you cannot gloat over your fallen enemies?”
Chapter 22
A CRUEL DISMISSAL
Barely able to contain his delight, Ragnok kept his gaze on the table in front of him, on the notepad on which he occasionally made a meaningless mark. But every now and then he could not resist the briefest of glances to his left, to see how Svein was reacting.
It was Halfdan the Black who was leading the attack, and he did so with evident relish. “Svein has no Epic character of any standing; therefore he cannot be on this committee. It’s straightforward.” Halfdan’s shaky voice took on a slightly gleeful note.
“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it,” Bekka spoke up angrily. “We can give Svein the wealth to equip another character who would very quickly become powerful enough to play a full role on Central Allocations.”
There was a pause at this.
As far as Ragnok could judge matters, neither Halfdan nor Thorkell would hesitate in throwing Svein off the committee. On the other hand, Bekka would always resist the proposal, which meant two votes for him to stay, as Svein still retained the right to vote, despite the loss of his character. The other members of the committee—Wolf, Brynhild, Hleid, and Godmund—were probably undecided.
Hleid was not chairing the meeting with her usual directness, and after the silence had lingered uncomfortably, she sighed. “This is a difficult situation. Of course we owe Svein a lot, and personally speaking, I am concerned that we will be all the weaker for the loss of his advice and experience with the library system; on the other hand, how will the world perceive matters if we rush a new character up the ranks? Just imagine what trouble that New Leviathan could make of it.”
Godmund nodded at this, and Ragnok’s heart leapt. If Godmund spoke against Svein, it would all be over.
Evidently Svein understood that equally well, for he quickly indicated to Hleid that he wanted to speak, even though his words did not seem that well prepared.
“I don’t deny it will look bad, but against that weigh the value of my contribution to this committee. How will you manage affairs in the South without me? And the library system—it requires quite a level of expertise. Then there is the University, the classes.”
The fact that Svein was speaking allowed Ragnok to examine him closely without having to hide his stare. The man was clearly suffering; he was pale, almost green, as if he had not been sleeping; his eyes were rheumy and now, as the failure of his own argument became evident in the faces of the other committee members, those eyes blinked back rising tears.
At last, guessing already which way the vote would go, Ragnok spoke. “No one is indispensable. If we need another on the committee from the South, there are rising students. The same with the libraries. It’s just not worth it.”
Svein looked shocked, and crumpled visibly. “You . . . also?”
Ragnok flashed a smile of triumph, but managed to check himself from further expressions of his true feelings. He wanted to stand over Svein, gloating. To tell him that for years and years he had played the game to Svein’s rules while all the time hating the arrogant librarian. At every step, he had pretended gratitude. How kind of Svein to show him the tactics, the equipment, the magic that he had learned the use of. How kind of the librarian to give him every dirty job that came the way of the committee, earning the deep hatred of the world’s people, a hatred in which Ragnok reveled. It had been Svein who above all had been shielded from public dislike by his apprentice. Svein had thought himself untouchable, but now an accident of the game had thrown him to the ground, and instead of helping him up, Ragnok spat on him.
“I call a vote,” crowed Halfdan, “for the removal of Svein the Librarian from Central Allocations.”
“And my alternative is that we reequip him in honor of his past achievements. The world will understand that. In fact, they will be surprised if we fail him.” Bekka made a last try to sway them.
“Very well, the options are clear. All those for Svein remaining on this committee, please show.”
Only Bekka, Wolf, and, of course, Svein himself raised their hands.
“Those against?”
Halfdan led the way, reaching triumphantly upwards with his slightly shaking right arm; Thorkell, Godmund, and Ragnok joined him. That left Brynhild and Hleid as abstainers, but it didn’t matter, Svein was gone!
“I’m sorry, Svein. I will have to ask you to leave.” Hleid looked visibly shocked.
It must have been a long, slow walk to the door. Ragnok followed every step. Svein did not depart with his head held high. Rather he seemed dazed and uncomprehending, his shoulders slumped.
Chapter 23
LANDSCAPE PAINTING
B.E. and Sigrid were at the beach, sitting on the “gulping rock”—so called because of the sound that the waves made as they slapped into the spaces beneath its great bulk. From some distance, Erik hailed them, and, somewhat disconcertingly, Sigrid got up and climbed down the far side of the rock, to reappear walking determinedly away from him.
“Don’t mind her.” B.E. patted the rock beside him, to indicate that Erik should sit. “She’s angry. It will pass.”
“I’m sorry,” Erik said as he settled beside his older friend.
“It’s not your fault. I made the call on bringing the vampyre, remember?”
“If I survive this, I’ll split my money with your new character,” Erik offered.
“That’s kind, Erik, but perhaps it’s just as well.” B.E. looked away uncomfortable, pretending to study a distant island.
“How do you mean?”
“Didn’t you notice? All that fame and wealth—it was not good for me. I was changing. And I didn’t like what I was becoming.”
Mystified, Erik said nothing and they listened for a while to the waves hitting and sucking at their perch.
“There’s a girl at school, for example,” B.E. suddenly began again. “Judna—she wanted to talk to me at the dance. I ignored her. I knew I was destined to be a celebrity in Mikelgard, and Hope suddenly seemed very small and un
important. I was going to leave it behind and enjoy my fame in Mikelgard, drive a fast saller around the city, meet lots of beautiful girls. But at the same time as enjoying the prospect, I hated myself for my new arrogance. See? And actually I think I would have been unhappy in the city, no matter how famous I was.”
“I see.” It had never occurred to Erik to leave Hope, other than perhaps temporarily joining his parents in exile. Or perhaps to be with Injeborg—though neither of them had spoken of the future and whether they were going to be together.
“So I don’t mind that it is over, for me at least. My only real regret is that I didn’t get to see Thunder and Lightning in action.” B.E. turned with an apologetic smile. “And, of course, that we didn’t get your dad back.”
“You can start again. If we don’t all die as prisoners, there should be enough money to reequip ourselves, perhaps not on as great a scale, but enough to keep trying.” Erik paused, thinking of his friend starting a new character as if the dragonslaying had never happened. “After all, you won’t be able to go back to killing kobolds after everything we’ve been through.”
“No. That’s true.” B.E. sighed. “Oh, I don’t know.” He got up and stretched, arms lifted to the gray sky. “If I walk fast, I will be able to get to Judna’s farm and back before dark.” He jumped decisively from the rock, landing with a crunch onto the shingle. “Good luck in the game, Erik. I hope you can escape with your life, and I’m sorry your plans have gone wrong.”
The first appearance of buds in the pruned branches of the trees was usually a period of happiness in Hope District, for it meant that the winter was over, and spring had truly arrived. Moreover, spring was often the more pleasant time of year for their part of the coast, summer itself being too hot and tiring. Right now, a fresh breeze was brushing over the daisies, dandelions, and buttercups that were rising through the grass of the fields left uncultivated for pasture.
For Erik, though, the turn in the season brought little pleasure. It was a season to be shared, but this was the first time he had experienced it alone, his mum and dad half a world away. His sense of being alone was increased by the fact that for the first time in weeks he could no longer even converse with them through the game. For since the burning of the White Falcon, there was no sign of Harald’s character, while his mum’s remained in the vicinity of Newhaven and could not contact Cindella even if she were not a prisoner.
Over at the Rolfsons’, the atmosphere of the farm seemed miserable and subdued. Erik found Injeborg walking their pet dog, a sheepdog called Hafni, through the rows of olive trees.
She waved, by contrast to Sigrid, happy to see him, and Erik immediately felt uplifted.
“Look,” she said, pointing. “Isn’t that the rock on which you broke your tooth?”
Involuntarily Erik ran his tongue over the half tooth.
“Yes.” His smile was slightly embarrassed, conscious as he was that she was looking at his imperfect grin.
“I would miss that smile if you had it fixed,” she responded, as if reading his thoughts.
“You don’t think it makes me ugly?” He was only half joking.
“You are very handsome, Erik Haraldson, and you know it.” Laughing, she patted his cheeks with her cold white hands, and for a dizzy moment Erik felt like grabbing her and pulling her to him, to hold her slender body against his, to kiss her. But even if he could be sure that she would not pull away, this was not the time.
“Where’s Bjorn?” Erik asked.
“Up on Ogail Hill. It’s a good day for painting.”
“Would he mind if we went up?”
“No. I’m sure he wouldn’t. We all need to talk anyway, and make plans.” Injeborg’s tone was more positive than the situation deserved, but her confidence was infectious. Picking up a suitable stick, Erik threw it towards the path they would take, setting an eager Hafni off ahead of them.
The path ended some distance before the top of the hill, and they had to climb over boulders to reach the top, Hafni carefully eyeing up each jump before she leapt from rock to rock after them. When they crested the last boulder, a spectacular coastline came into view. They were high enough up that the fields were a like a chessboard of greens and browns—varying according to whether they contained olive trees or pasture. The clouds were passing briskly overhead, causing shafts of light to race each other across the land on their way to the distant sea where they sent glittering ribbons of silver across the water and on to the horizon.
With rocks piled around his easel to hold it steady, Bjorn was sitting on a stool, an earnest look of concentration on his face. It warmed Erik’s heart to see his friend, so big and muscular, with such sturdy fingers, nevertheless carefully holding a brush with which he delicately made strokes on the canvas, face set in concentration. Both Erik and Injeborg paused, so as not to disturb him, until Bjorn lowered his hand and looked down to his paints.
As they drew closer, Erik could see that the version of the landscape that Bjorn had set onto the canvas was gloom ier than their actual view—the clouds darker, the land more somber. It seemed to say more than words could about his friend’s state of mind.
“Hi, Bjorn!” Injeborg approached him first.
“Hello.” He did not turn around.
“Hi, Bjorn.”
“Hello, Erik.” Bjorn began to wash his brush.
“Mind if we join you awhile?” His sister asked. “We need to talk.”
“No,” replied Bjorn slowly. “I don’t mind. This one is finished.”
Erik sat on a flat-looking rock, and played with Hafni’s ears.
“What happened to you when the rest of us were captured?” Erik asked.
“I unclipped.”
“Hmmm. I thought about doing that. But was worried that if the ship sank, I would find myself in a cabin at the bottom of the sea when I resumed, and would drown before regaining the surface.”
“Ya. That is right.” Bjorn looked up, then gave a slight smile of self-approval. “I put on my water breathing helmet first, of course.”
“Ahh, of course!” Erik jumped up excitedly and Hafni dropped the stick she had patiently been carrying, leaping up in response, ready to run. “So you are still alive! That’s great, Bjorn, I feel so happy. At least one of us might keep their fortune!”
“Maybe. But it’s dark there at the bottom of the sea, and muddy. I’m lost. I’m plodding along like I’m in a giant cave, not even sure if I’m walking in circles, and all the time I’m afraid some giant sea monster is just going to pounce on me and eat me.”
“But still. You are alive!”
“So are the two of you, right? And Sigrid?”
“At the moment,” answered Injeborg. “But our situation is desperate. Duke Raymond wants our treasure as a ransom, but we don’t trust them to release us if we send the soulbound djinn off.”
“I think the only reason they haven’t killed anyone is that I’ve promised to lead them to the buried treasure if they let us all live,” Erik added. “I’m hoping that when we get to the island, a chance of escape will present itself. Because once they get the treasure, they will go back to trying to get a ransom out of us.”
“I see.” Bjorn nodded, his face more animated now, as he thought about the problem. “Do you have any ideas of how to escape?”
“Not at the moment, but I did manage to keep my ring. It might reveal something.”
“Perhaps, if you are very fortunate.” Bjorn sighed.
“What?” asked Injeborg.
“This nonsense. This whole adventure. It was so irresponsible, so frivolous. We took a big risk fighting the dragon. It paid off. We should have been content. But we had to go off into strange and dangerous places. Very wrong of us, to treat the outcome of our lives in such a wild way.”
“No!” interjected Injeborg loudly, making her brother look up sharply from his cleaning. “No. We are not frivolous. We cannot be content to just take the money and live comfortable lives, because the world is w
rong. So many people, wasting so many hours, grinding away at the accumulation of pennies. Our dad, Bjorn, our dad, remember? Working in the mines for a year because we had no solar panel on the farm. The lives of all of us are getting harder and harder, our work longer and our time in the game longer to no useful purpose. Erik was right to want to change this. To challenge Central Allocations. And the amnesty was only the first law you were going to introduce, wasn’t it, Erik? After you had shown you could do it, you were going to change more, weren’t you? To make the world a fairer place. To put more resources into developing our agriculture and our economy? To reward people who actually work in this real world and not those who play professionally in the game.”
This was a revelation to Erik, and he had no words when they both turned to look at him, Bjorn skeptical, Injeborg passionate.
“I er . . . to be honest, I hadn’t thought of it like that, Inny. I was thinking more of my dad coming home than anything else.”
“I know. I know how you think.” Injeborg patted him on the arm. “But you do agree with me? You hate injustice.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I just hadn’t thought it through as far as you. But why not? Why not use the money like you say? Give it to those who work. It makes sense. But . . .”
“Yes?” she asked earnestly.
“But it seems irrelevant to talk about changing the world, when our plans to challenge C.A. are in ruins.”
“That’s right. Escape first. Then daydream.” Bjorn smiled at his sister, half mocking her, but in part full of admiration for her.
Sensing their talking was done, Hafni gave a short bark, and looked back and forth.
“She wants to go home,” observed Bjorn. “I’m finished here. Let’s go and see how matters stand in the game.”
Chapter 24
ARGUING WITH A VAMPYRE
“So you are here at last.”
Slightly dizzy from his entry into Epic, Erik took a moment to check that nothing had changed in the dark room that held them prisoner. Anonemuss was sitting, leaning against a wall, arms still bound tightly to his sides.
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