Leif looked down at the bewildered man at her feet who had felt the world spin around him. He held out a hand and lifted the kaptein to his feet. "Answer me this, herre, do we have a cabin boy on board?"
"No. Not any more. We must have left the real cabin boy on shore in all the chaos. All other crew is accounted for." Kaptein Gramrsson dusted off the knees of his trousers. He was relieved but still not back to his confident self.
"Greithr,” Leif said, coming to a decision.
Kaptein Gramrsson suddenly looked smug. The realization dawned on him that the Kronadottir's prank was about to get a dose of justice. Leif saw that expression, and his disgusted scowl intensified against all of them.
"This is not a game!” he yelled. “The fact that the power to threaten life and limb changed hands to your benefit does not grant you the privilege to be smug! You all did wrong here, and I am well within my right and authority to punish you in accordance with your crimes! Jah, crimes! I am your judge and if I so choose it, your executioner!”
Leif’s outburst was a thunderclap in the cabin, leaving all wide-eyed and fearful of the young man who would become their Visekonge. In a calmer but still intense tone, he continued.
“Do not think for one moment I will make her apologize to you, Herre Kaptein. You deserved the fright she gave you. If you had not been so quick to use discipline instead of asking questions of the accused, this would have never happened." The words were slaps in the kaptein’s face, and he bowed his head in shame.
Solveig still had the audacity to look surprised that the kaptein would not suffer punishment.
"Sister, do not look so surprised. You played along with one of Mirjam's jokes, and now you both will receive your reward.”
"I do not like the sound of that," Mirjam muttered.
"You ought not," Leif barked. "The two of you desired to join our voyage for your own selfish reasons. My fault was confiding in you. Mother and Father will deal with all of us on that score when we return, but for now I must deal with our current situation. We cannot turn back or put in to shore to send you two home. Therefore, both of you will serve as cabin boys. You will be reduced in station to that of a commoner and be under the kaptein's authority, who will be given the right to punish you according to ship's discipline, just like any other disobedient sailor."
The kaptein looked poleaxed, but the girls were apoplectic.
"You cannot do that!" Mirjam shrieked.
"I can. I have that power," Leif said. "You have denied a sailor his work and wages for your own selfish desires, therefore, you will do his work. If you refuse, I will lock you in a closet with bread and water till we are back in Dyrrvatn Kastali. Am I understood, dearest sisters?"
Solveig nodded, unable to speak.
"Jah, dearest brother. I hear and obey," Mirjam fumed.
Leif’s fury rose with the hint of mockery in her response and he marched at her. She backpedaled till she hit the wall. His hands slapped the wall to either side of her head and leaned in till their noses almost touched.
“May God save you if you take any action that threatens the success of this voyage. And if you consider playing another prank or thwarting my will... I will personally scourge the both of you till your backs are bloody tatters. Am I understood, dearest sister?”
The words were a terrifying whisper. Her face went white as cream as she searched his face for any doubt. She found none and gave a quivering nod.
"Kaptein?” Leif pushed off and walked to the door. “I leave you and your two new cabin boys to begin their training. Be fair, but do not be deferential, and above all, come to me if you have any extraordinary discipline problems."
As he left the kaptein’s cabin, he realized how well Father had taught him. Silently he prayed all these threats and theatrics would remain just for show.
"Thank you, my Tign," Kaptein Gramrsson said. His professional nature returning. Tronerving Leif and his personal guard filed out of the cabin with Solveig and Mirjam left to their new lives.
26. Alms & Rolling Coins
As the summer solstice approached, the Athrflojtdalr came to full bloom. The broad valley’s lakes were strung together by the winding river, like pearls on a silver wire. The skies were filled with woolly piles of clouds, and the silver and white tipped grasses glistened in the meadows. Far to the east, hints of white peaks on dark gray mountains could be seen peeking over the horizon.
The Visekonge’s train galloped north along the river. It skirted the lakes and ponds on its way to Manvoenlandnaam and the Summarpalasset near the shores of the Kisiina Sea. The cool salty air made for a comfortable escape away from the thick hot summers of Dyrrvatn Kastali.
“I would have preferred taking the Sjovinna,” the Visedronning complained.
“Jah, that would have been much more enjoyable, but the wind is good today,” Gregor agreed.
He reclined with her against a padded leather bench on top of the royal coach. His personal huskarl standing at the ready, riding the motions of the train with graceful sways. Olivr sailed his hand in the wind while kneeling next to his father.
In the middle of the car floor sat a large strongbox. It was closed, but the unlocked lid covered a fortune in silver and gold pennings, ertogs, oeres and even a few gold marks. As was tradition while traveling to the Summarpalasset, the Visekonge threw alms to his subjects from his passing train. He and those with him would be given a bag of coins to pick blindly from and throw one at a time to the crowd. They would never know what they might pull out, but even a single silver penning was an excellent windfall, while a gold mark could do much for the community as a whole.
His jarls viewed this as wanton pandering. Gregor disagreed. All the monies not given during the trip were provided as an offering to the Havarian Estate in Mannvoenlandnaam. That, of course, made the Kyrkja frown a little over how much was thrown to the crowds as well. Again, Gregor did not care what they preferred for he understood the nature of greed. Even those devoted to God still harbored their own agendas.
“At least giving out alms makes the trip more enjoyable,” the Visedronning admitted as she saw two children attempting to keep pace with the train as it passed their field. She fished out a coin and threw it on a high arc. It flashed bright and silver in the sun. She smiled and waved to them as they gave grateful shouts in return. Gregor’s coin gave off golden flickers as it also landed near the children.
“Oj!” the Visedronning laughed. “I believe that farmhold will be well provisioned this year!” Olivr cheered vigorously.
Marianne looked at the members of the Privy Council who were joining them for part of their time at the Summarpalasset.
Admiral Sverirsson seemed dour, focusing on something other than the splendid weather. His mind was probably worrying about how many hulls he could put in the water and the number of ballistae he could fit on their decks. Even after the expansion to his naval budget, his humor seemed sullen and bordered on insolent. That was part of the reason Gregor extended an invitation he could not refuse. The man’s new habit of hard drinking had become repellant and needed to be addressed.
Next to him, the Crown chaplain nattered on to the minister of the wardrobe. The priest remained unaware of the perpetual state of fussiness the minster had been in since failing to find Solveig and Mirjam. So far the story for their absence had held. Jarl Alvisaettir and the Visedronning’s mother and father agreed to vouch for the claim and say they were visiting in Manitouland. Marianne was thankful. The sense of competition for Solveig’s hand had yielded an improved offer from the Vilhoaettir’s factor.
“Look! Look!” Olivr slid off the bench and began to jump around excitedly. He had spotted more people and wanted to toss alms to them. The train slowed a little, and the Visekonge stood and waved. As the train chugged through the small farmhold, Olivr held out a hand for a coin to throw. His throw was pathetic for a boy his age, clearing the cinders by the barest of margins.
The Visedronning noticed the admiral’s eyes
boring holes into Olivr. She bit down on her distaste for the man and was determined to force Gregor to make him toe the line or get him out of his Privy Council.
She could not afford to have someone like that so close to her husband’s ear.
Though Olivr tried to imitate his father, he dropped another coin. It landed a few feet from the wheels. He chased after the coin as it rolled along and made several grabs before he caught it. Once in hand again, Olivr made another weak throw to people who by this time were far behind.
“That is fine,” Gregor encouraged, rubbing his son’s head. The admiral winced.
“That will make a surprise to a ribbonroad worker some day,” Gregor said as he refilled his bag for the next town. “We will try again in a little while.”
“Greithr, Pader!” Olivr agreed.
“Go find the coins we spilled and put them in the chest,” Gregor suggested. Olivr nodded and scurried into the corners to fetch every coin that had gone astray.
The last of the winter logs were moving down river. Timberjacks walked on the flotilla, guiding them with canthooks to the sawmills ahead. A cookhouse ark floated along in the middle, ringing its flatiron. A cheer went up for the train’s passing. After a few miles, the raft of logs disappeared as they rounded a bend of the river and approached a large town.
The admiral rose from his seat and gave a large stretch. “My Tign, do you mind if I toss a few? I need to move around a little. Sat too long and my legs are stiff.”
“Go right ahead,” Gregor said, glad to see him wanting to participate.
Reaching into the chest, the admiral picked up one of the small velvet purses they had been using. He slopped out a handful of coins. Two or three hit the floor and Olivr scuttled over to snatch them up.
“Here, Amirmal,” the boy offered.
“Thank you, my Tign. My fingers seem to be clumsy today. It must be my age. Could you watch for any coins I might drop?” he asked.
“Jah. I will get them for you.”
“Thank you,” the admiral said with a little bow.
Forsamling lined the tracks before the stockade. The train slowed to a crawl as the ribbonroad gate opened. Coins began to fly. A fat purse was held out on a ring by one of the brakemen who gave a flying handoff to a waiting priest. A grateful Anjar from the local kyrkje hooked it at his elbow and shouted blessings as the train rolled on.
Admiral Sverirsson tossed a coin but also dropped another one from his purse. Olivr skittered around the floor and gathered it up and put it back into the strongbox. He looked for more, enjoying his job.
The town rejoiced as the train crept by the station. Coin upon coin was thrown to the throng while the vehicle steamed forward at a walking pace. Everyone laughed and waved. Many Forsamling threw flowers in return, some landing on the top of the coach. Others were thrown on the ribbons, the smell of crushed blossoms rose as the train picked up speed again.
The crowd vanished. Replaced by open air and water as the ribbon coaches went over the bridge next to a set of falls. Everyone aboard breathed a sigh of relief with the moment’s peace. Subjects waved from shore as the train crossed the bridge.
Suddenly with a loud knock, a silver oere hit the floor on edge. Olivr turned to see the coin roll toward the opening between the cars and rushed to catch it.
“I got it!” he shouted with glee and launched himself after the valuable coin.
“Olivr!” Marianne screamed.
The boy had slipped between the two huskarls who were filling more purses from the strongbox. They looked up at the Visedronning, surprised by her scream.
Gregor was already in motion. He reached Olivr just as his son stretched out for the coin.
The silver oere went over the edge between the coaches.
Olivr’s momentum took him into empty space.
Gregor lunged.
He seized Olivr by the belt and yanked, hard, pulled the boy away from the edge like a sack of flour. Marianne felt a split second of relief at her son being snatched from certain death.
But Gregor’s momentum was too great, and he was unable to stop. He tried to plant a foot, to jump the gap between cars, but missed.
Chest first, he slammed into the edge of the leading coach letting out a loud woof of air. The Visekonge vanished between the coaches as the sound of his fingernails tore the wood trim. His crown flew from his brow and rolled in a vile imitation of the coin Olivr had chased seconds before. It came to rest upside down on the floor as the world filled with the shriek of brakes, whistles and the Visedronning’s screams.
27. The Dove of Heaven Sings
“Come on! Come on!” the cook yelled down to Solveig. “If you take much longer those potatoes will go to seed!” he brayed like a donkey thinking his comment particularly witty. Solveig continued to climb up from the provisions hold, a heavy sack of potatoes on her shoulder. Under her breath she muttered a stream of curses at the man.
“What do you want me to do now?” Solveig asked, too snippy for the cook’s taste. He looked at her dumbstruck.
“You just crawled up here with a sack of potatoes on your back, what do you think needs to be done? Get peeling,” he ordered and turned back to his cauldron of mutton. “Worthless peerage,” he grumbled. “Cannot do a decent day’s work with a knife to their throat. Give me a good boy of eight any day. Fy da… Six even.”
“Jah, herre,” she added sullenly, remembering her temporary status. Solveig walked to the work table in the blazing hot kitchen, and with a careful hand, started peeling. Soon her pace picked up enough to stop the cook’s disappointed groans and other insulting sounds at her performance. The dull ring of spuds multiplying in the iron pot became a meditation as she peered out the room’s small window. A zephyr of fresh air came now and again, bringing her the scent of the forest over the water.
Monolithic mountains towered above the Silfryxen as she churned up the long fjord to the next mining camp. Rain had left a bright clear sky behind. The land glittered and steamed, drying in the hot sun.
Thus far, the voyage had been a success, and they had sailed unimpeded. The ship’s hold was half full from the Visekonge’s hidden hoards, but there were several more stops to make, including a last secret stop. The location known only to Leif and the kaptein. Everyone aboard was curious. What was their final anchorage? What wonders would they find next?
The Visekonges of yore had provisioned well for times of trouble. As the hold filled, paranoia snuck on board like rats up the mooring lines. It crept in the corners and the shadows, nibbling on the minds of sailor and soldier alike. Barrels of silver nuggets and strongboxes full of gold and gems were strong temptations. Would someone decide that no one would miss “just one”? Tens of thousands of raw amethysts filled bag upon bag packed into heavy crates. Their magical glittering purple dust coated the hold making it sparkle with its crystalline magic. But right now, Solveig’s life was far from magical. All that glittering dust needed to be swept up.
Solveig and Mirjam’s duties as cabin boys forced them to be the servants of every officer, sailor and passenger on the ship. Solveig spared a glance over her shoulder at the cook as he added more salt to the meat. He was not a terrible master, but she never had a commoner with authority over her before, and it galled her. He taught them duties well enough, but mistakes were often punctuated with a cane applied to the hands or rump. The blows more shock than injury. Humiliation was the real sting. Mirjam begged again and again, but Leif refused to release them from servitude.
Each day left the girls exhausted. They were still not used to such work and blessed their hammocks and pillows every night. Solveig’s body was barely able to keep up with the basic tasks set before her. More than a few sailors made less than charitable comments about how women were unable to do a boy’s work. Respect for accomplishments was never given, but mockery for failure was everywhere. For Mirjam, this was a challenge to beat. Something to prove.
That was an alien philosophy for Solveig. She saw it as an
unrelenting insult which she must endure. Soon, Leif grew tired of being pestered by Mirjam’s petitions and declared a special humiliation as the final garnish of shame. As cabin boys, the crew was forbidden to address either girl as “My Tign.” Solveig winced at the thought. One day, she swore, she would have her revenge on Leif who she blamed for all these indignities she suffered.
On the other hand, Solveig was learning a new appreciation for those in her service. A simple thoughtless request could bring great torment and strain those who must fulfill it. Serving the crew’s meals regardless of weather was a challenge as the mess was on the opposite end of the ship from the kitchen, but thanks to God’s grace, not one supper was missed. Cleaning the cabins, emptying chamber pots, swabbing the deck filled much of the rest of their time. She intended to treat her maids far better in the future, if she survived this ordeal.
Not all things were bad. The chores began to strengthen her muscles, made them accustomed to difficult labor. The girls no longer looked like young women used to lives of luxury. Calluses had grown on their hands and feet, much to their ire. And, although he still frightened Solveig, the boatswain was an excellent teacher. He set about treating them as proper cabin boys, not as jokes. From him she learned about knots and rigging. He also taught her basic navigation, and much to her terror but Mirjam’s delight, he allowed them to hold a course when the lake was calm and the sun was high.
The boatswain told her it was right to learn how to be good cabin boys. That way she could better understand her subjects. Knowledge and empathy, he believed, were two things that kept mankind from slumping back to the furry bloody pit with all the other animals. A philosophy she never expected from someone not of the clergy or the peerage.
“Done,” Mirjam said as she clomped into the kitchen. She was sweaty and dirty, hands bright red from cleaning with pine oil.
The cook looked at Mirjam, disinterested, then leaned to look over Solveig’s shoulder and her pot of peeled potatoes.
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 17