by Jaid Black
“You’ve a point.” Annikki sighed. “I don’t think anyone would barter for garments of this quality, anyway.”
“We could reopen the old alehouse,” Agata said. “Mayhap ’twould bring in more coins.”
“What’s the alehouse?” Drake asked. She tucked a long, black tress behind an ear. “Is it that titty bar you told me about?”
“Aye.”
Annikki gasped. “I will not have my daughters flitting about naked from table to table, serving mead to any drunkard with a coin!” She harrumphed. “Though I already thought of doing that myself. I’ve no marriage, present or future, to taint—”
Madalyn’s eyebrows shot up. Annikki serving mead naked? Huh.
“But Otar would throttle me did he catch word that his mama was doing that.”
“Ya think?” Madalyn shook her head. Annikki was quite a character. Her amused expression slowly dissolved. “But I think Agata makes a good point. We need money.”
“The price of everything is exorbitant at the shopping stalls and mayhap will be until the Revolution ends.” Agata threw her hands up, frustrated. “What choice is left to us? We’ve been left to fend for ourselves!”
That was what worried Madalyn the most. She knew in her heart that Otar wasn’t the type of man who would leave his family starving. If he was still breathing, he would find a way to get funds to them for food.
“I can’t believe our lives have come to this,” Annikki whispered. “From respectable wenches to naked harlots in the blink of an eye.”
“We live on the Row, Mama,” Agata pointed out. “We are not considered respectable.”
“Then semirespectable. None of us here are harlots!”
Elbow on the table, Madalyn plopped her chin in her hand and watched her mother-in-law’s performance, hiding a smile.
“Where did it all go wrong?” Annikki asked, the air about her, looking at no one in particular. Her gaze was intense, her face angst-ridden. A better thespian had never been. “Verily, I never turned my back on the gods, yet they have thrust me from their bosom.” She blinked, then looked to Madalyn. “Mayhap we should use that bit about the gods in one of our sagas, aye?”
“I like it,” Drake said. “Simple, yet effective.”
“Mama,” Agata huffed, “forget the sagas. We must concentrate on how to earn coins. I, for one, think we should reopen the alehouse. I’m no happier than any of you at the thought of strange men touching me, but starving to death sounds much worse.”
Madalyn nibbled on her lower lip. Survival was for the fittest, or at least the cleverest. Racking her brain, she tried to think of an acceptable alternative.
A play amidst a war was unlikely to go over very well. Then again, it might be an innocent, fun release for the New Swedes. Sort of like the Bob Hope USO tours for military men who fought above the ground.
She frowned, quickly deciding against it. Those specials had been free, not something the soldiers paid to see. When money was tight for everyone, it was unlikely their plays would draw paying crowds.
Unless there was something very titillating about them. Something that the people just had to see.
“I’m out of ideas,” Drake announced. “I vote we just starve to death.” Her eyes narrowed. “It would serve those bastard men right for dressing us like raging sluts and then leaving us without any money.”
“You haven’t given us any ideas yet,” Madalyn pointed out, exasperated. “And I’m in no mood to die in order to make a social statement!”
Good God, this was just awful! Get naked and eat or stay clothed and starve.
“I don’t see why you’re so put off about stripping in front of strange men, Maddie Mae.” Drake looked at her pointedly. “Every man above the ground knows what your boobies look like. Who cares if the men below the ground know it, too?”
“That was different!” Madalyn gasped, affronted. “That was art!”
“Art schmart. We’re talking life or death here. I vote that you take off your clothes. All in favor say ‘aye.’ ”
“Drake!”
“Just pretend you’re on a movie set or whatever it is you do to rev yourself up for a nude scene.”
“I got paid millions of dollars to do that,” Madalyn gritted out. “There’s an ocean of difference between twenty million dollars and a handful of coins!”
Sweet Lord above! Stripping for a handful of coins had HAS-BEEN stamped all over it with huge flashing neon letters—a fate worse than death.
“Money is money,” Drake said pragmatically. “In the end, it’s the only thing that pays the bills.”
Madalyn harrumphed. Come to think of it, it wasn’t that much different from acting. Still, she had her standards. “Then you do it!” Her ego was smarting from the bristle to her pride. “How can I go from millions to a few measly coins? Tootie Taylor would just loooove to hear about this!”
“Tootie Taylor?” Agata asked.
“They are old movie rivals,” Drake explained. “They hate each other. It’s a trip to see them together.”
Enough was enough. “I’m not taking off my clothes alone. I think we should leave Annikki out of this, but fair is fair for the rest of us.” Madalyn narrowed her gaze at her frowning sister. “Either we’re the three nude Musketeers or the three clothed skeletons.” She waved a regal hand. “Take your pick.”
The hut was quiet as the women chewed it over. They exchanged worried glances. Finally, it was Drake who broke the silence.
“Oh all right, damn it,” Drake said. “I guess I can deal with it.”
“Me, too,” Agata sighed.
“But I’m not letting any men grope me.” Drake held up a palm. “That’s where the caboose ends on this train.”
“I agree,” Madalyn said, tossing around ideas in her mind. “We’ll have to figure out something that all of us can live with.”
IT HAD BEEN A FORTNIGHT since the Revolution had begun, a fortnight since Otar had seen his wife. The rebels were slowly but surely winning, gaining small victories daily. An increasing number of sectors had been snatched away from Toki’s regime and secured by Lord Ericsson’s fighters.
War raged on day and night, never relenting; the death toll was climbing on both sides. Already two of Otar’s childhood friends had been lost to him. One had been a rebel, the other a Toki loyalist he’d not spoken to in ten years and five.
Even though Arvid had turned his back on Otar many years hence, ’twas no easier to find him dead, his broken body lying in the dirt. Memories of childhood laughter had assaulted Otar, mental pictures of the two boys sneaking treats and eating them while they told each other made-up battle sagas.
War was no longer a boyhood flight of fancy; death had gripped New Sweden by her throat.
Thoughts of Madalyn kept Otar strong. He had but to conjure up her smile in his mind and it gave him the vigor to keep fighting—and surviving. Warriors and soldiers fell left and right, but Otar was determined to come out of the Revolution alive. His hand had slain more men than any fighter should ever have to. Thus far, he had prevailed. Otar intended to keep things that way.
“Something isn’t right,” Lord Ericsson said. Dressed in heavy chain-mail, Otar clanked along beside him into a secure hut that had been erected by the rebels. “From the first of the battles, Toki has been able to anticipate our every move.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Taking a seat in a chair his cousin motioned to, Otar gladly accepted a mug of ale from Otrygg, who was already in the hut. “I thought with Luukas imprisoned that the ferret had been thwarted.” He frowned grimly. “I was wrong.”
“As was I.” Nikolas’s teeth gritted. “The traitor has to be found, Otar. This bedamned war will never end until Toki is dead.”
Lord Ericsson had fought as rigorously as Otar had this past fortnight; Nikolas’s face was covered in the same dirt and blood as his own. He had done all he could to capture Toki, but with someone leaking information as to his every plan, ’twas an exercise in futility.
Until Toki ceased to exist, his loyalists would hang on tightly.
Otrygg patted Nikolas on the back. “We will find him, Niko. Eventually all things done in the dark come to the light.”
Otar snorted, amused. “You sound like one of the ancient oracles. Mayhap you can predict how many babes Madalyn will birth me?”
“Five.” Otrygg winked. “If my visions serve me well.”
The men shared a laugh, but Otar’s thoughts were distracted. He wanted to get started on those babies anon, but first the ferret had to be found.
“Any word from your family as to how they fare?” Nikolas tore off a piece of flatbread and gobbled it up. “I’ve heard naught from Ronda. ’Tis driving me daft with worry.”
“Nay.” Otar shook his head. “I’m waiting on a report I’ve yet to receive. At least I know they are being cared for. I’ve had coins sent home every week to keep them fed and clothed.”
“You’ll have a lot more coins to barter with when the Revolution ends.” Otrygg harrumphed. “’Twill be my pleasure to see that sadistic Nothrum ousted from your family’s dwelling and your home placed back in its rightful hands.”
Before Madalyn, such had been Otar’s obsession. Now he just wanted to be able to protect and care for his family, regardless of where they dwelled.
Otar stood up. “I am going to get a few hours of sleep. But before I go, there is something that needs to be said.”
Nikolas crooked an eyebrow. “Aye?”
“The traitor isn’t a soldier nor is he a warrior.”
“Go on,” Nikolas said softly.
“A soldier does a warrior’s bidding and a warrior does naught but impart orders from the nobles. None from my ranks know the details your ferret knew.”
“So you believe him to be a noble?”
“Aye, I do.”
Otar’s face was hard, impassive. “I ask that you free Luukas.”
Nikolas inclined his head. “He’ll be free by morn. You’ve my word.”
“Excellent. We can use another good fighter.”
“Nevertheless,” Otrygg said, “’twould be wise to keep an eye on him.”
“I shall,” Otar promised. “Hopefully there is still a trust there between us. Mayhap he knows something, but doesn’t know that he knows it.”
Lord Ericsson’s forehead wrinkled.
“There’s something strange about the way everything has happened.” Otar yawned hugely. “I will sort things out after a few good hours of slumber.”
Nikolas stood up and patted him affectionately on the back. “Get some rest, cousin. We can talk strategy in the morn.”
Chapter
Thirty-one
“This is your great plan?” Drake complained.
“I don’t hear you coming up with a better idea,” Madalyn pointed out.
“I’m not mud-wrestling you naked,” Drake ground out. “No way.”
“Daughters,” Annikki chastised as the four women neared the closed-down alehouse, “let us not be at each other’s throats. There is war enough in New Sweden without battling one another.”
“That’s another great line, Anni,” Drake praised. “That should go in one of your sagas, too.”
“I was thinking the same thing, dearest.” Annikki smiled animatedly. “Mayhap I should carry parchment and ink everywhere I go that I might make notes of my words for future reference.”
“The hallmark of a great writer.”
“Well, here we are.” Madalyn sighed as their group stopped in front of the alehouse. “If we aren’t going to wrestle in the mud, then we have to figure something else out. Let’s have a look around and hope that inspiration strikes.”
“This place inspires me to want to wear a gas mask,” Drake said as they entered the open area of the cantina. “The tables are gross: they look sticky. Good grief, I hope nobody blew their wads on them.”
“What does it mean, to blow a wad?” Agata asked.
Madalyn frowned at Drake. “It means they blew their noses,” she bit out, daring Drake to gainsay her.
“Aacck,” Annikki spat. “’Tis disgusting. But I’m sure the wenches of Shanty Row shall pitch in and help us clean the place up.”
Madalyn sighed as she gave the outside area a thorough look. “I hope they’ll pitch in by doing it all.” Sweet Lord above, she didn’t even want to contemplate what was on those tables! “I mean, if we’re doing the nude bits maybe they can do the cleaning bits.”
“We can’t do anything here with clothes on, let alone naked,” Drake insisted. “Not until it’s been disinfected.”
Mr. Clean could detonate a bomb in the alehouse and Madalyn doubted she’d feel any better. The tavern was grosser than gross.
After inspecting the outside cantina, they made their way into its inner chamber. In comparison to the outside, the room was big and surprisingly sanitary. Then again, the underside of a toilet seat in a gas station washroom looked cleaner than the outer cantina.
“’Tis a rather big stage,” Annikki breathed out. Madalyn smiled at the excitement in her voice. “I cannot wait to put on our saga! As soon as the Revolution ends, ’tis fame and fortune for us all.”
The women shared a much-needed giggle.
After a few minutes of laughing and joking, Madalyn felt it was time to steer the conversation back to the subject at hand. “Has anyone had an idea yet?”
“Nay,” Agata sighed. “’Tis sorry I am, but nay.”
“Me, either.” Drake glanced up at the stage and frowned. “I don’t want any men touching me, I don’t want any women touching me, and I don’t like people in general. I’m thinking this doesn’t leave us many alternatives.”
“I agree about the touching,” Madalyn said. “I think that only leaves us with just one alternative.”
“Starvation?” Agata asked, her expression horrified.
“Sagas?” Annikki chimed in, her face hopeful.
“Suicide?” Drake inquired, clearly pondering.
“Stripping!” Madalyn was tired of having to state the obvious. Sheesh! “We put on one show, nobody touches us, we collect our coins, and voilà…food.”
Silence ensued alongside a lot of dumbfounded expressions. Madalyn went on to explain what she meant by stripping. Not the raunchy, seedy, gyrate-in-your-lap shows put on in modern America, but the old-fashioned, sensual, peek-a-boo burlesque shows.
“I like the other S’s a lot better,” Drake said grimly. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve got anything to strip out of. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re hardly wearing anything as it is.”
“So we’ll have to make outfits!” Madalyn held a palm to her forehead; she was getting another headache. “You’re all complaints and no ideas, Drake. Put up or shut up.”
“I can piece together some lovely garments,” Annikki said, beaming.
“I can get the wenches of the Row together to clean,” Agata added. “Mama and I can also spread the word of the show around the colony. We must decide on the date first, though.”
“I can make us some homemade assault rifles.” Drake nodded. “Preparation for any eventuality is the key to the CACW lifestyle.”
“We’re really going to do this, then?” Madalyn asked hopefully.
“Why not?” Drake said. “Besides, it might piss of Iiro, which I’m thinking is a good thing.”
“Why is that a good thing?” Agata asked.
“Because he’s a man and all men are pigs. But mostly because he torched my khakis.”
Madalyn’s thoughts strayed to Otar as the women chatted. Unlike her sister, she had no desire to make her husband angry. She was a martyr. A naked martyr. A naked martyr who prayed Otar never found out about this. And, really, he should be grateful he’s married to someone so resourceful.
Come home to me and I won’t have to do this at all…
If he died, Madalyn thought dourly, she just might kill him.
“I’M THANKFUL YOU GOT ME FREED from confinement,” Luukas said. “Though I’m
angered that Lord Ericsson ever thought me to be a traitor. I’ve been a loyal follower to the cause since I first found out there were rebels amongst us.”
Leading Luukas out of the one-man cell, Otar motioned for him to follow him up the earthen pathway. “Aye, you have. And yet your behavior the other day was odd to me. I have trusted you for many years,” he said honestly, “yet even I was doubting you then.”
Luukas’s face flushed. “I cannot help the way that I am.” His nostrils flared as he glanced away. “I am not right in the head and I know it,” he said quietly, “but this does not make me treasonous.”
“True.” Otar quirked an eyebrow. “But let me ask you this…”
“Aye?”
Coming to a halt, Otar turned and faced his longtime friend. “What were you wanting to ask Nikolas that day?”
He shrugged. “I was to deliver some information to him, actually. Otrygg’s nephew bade me to go. He said to speak to none but Lord Ericsson.”
“Erikk?” That made no sense. As Otrygg’s nephew, Erikk had constant access to Nikolas. If he had something to say to him, he could say it himself. And Erikk had known that Niko had already departed Lokitown when Luukas went to hunt him. “What did Erikk desire for you to tell him?”
“All Erikk said was to ask Lord Ericsson if he could meet with him on the morrow near to the Underground water docks. I was to report back my answer, which of course I never received.”
Otar’s mind raced. Sweet Odin, could Otrygg’s own nephew be the ferret? Erikk had as much access to information as any of the lords did.
And casting suspicion on a man like Luukas would be easy for Erikk. Because of Otrygg, no one had ever doubted Erikk’s loyalty to the rebels.
“I see what you’re thinking.” Luukas scratched his jaw. “I say I get a decent meal in my belly and then I go hunting.”
“Aye.” Otar looked at Luukas pointedly. “Do you find him, bring him back alive. Lord Ericsson must make the final decision as to his fate.”