The day went on in much the same way. Food was served. Beef stew with fresh baked bread for sopping. Mr. and Mrs. Skoll did a lot to avoid us for the rest of the day. A few more people from town arrived in time to eat, but not many.
Judge Krumholtz and his wife departed early. Ettie made the excuse that the judge was feeling under the weather, though everyone knew what she really meant was ‘under the table.’ The Q&M boys and a couple of the big Scandinavians went out into the rain in a spirit of brotherly love to help Rufus drag their buggy out of the mud and they were underway, Ettie emphatically promising Skoll they would return the borrowed clothes.
That was when the trouble started. The boys failed to return from outside.
At first no one noticed. I was jawing with the Ravells and Cole had retired with Mr. Skoll to the back porch to smoke and talk business. With a pang of jealousy I noticed Van Helsing speaking with Mrs. Skoll in what I figured must be Greek in a corner of the den. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Vulmere was leaning on the mantle preserving a beer and letting his stew cool. If his eyes had been .44's they would have blown Van Helsing to little pieces. The lawyer was talking in angry tones to one of the men, who was on his haunches stoking the spluttering fire. I couldn’t hear if it was English he was speaking or not.
Then one of the Q&M boys burst in like a bull in a china shop, knocking over a little wood statue with the front door. He was hatless, covered in mud, and leaking blood from the corner of his lips.
“Where’s Mister Morris?” he yelled, shattering the peace of the party once and for all.
Those that were seated stood up and those that had been facing the south turned a hundred and eighty degrees on their heels. Mrs. Ravell dropped her teacup and it thumped on the throw rug.
I set my warm beer down on a table, kicking into action. I was never much for parties anyhow.
“He’s in the back. What’s up, son?”
The wrung looking cowboy jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, spattering the white robe of a gold-locked woman in a painting on the wall with mud, and stomped towards the back door, leaving a trail of grimy footprints.
The Scandinavian poking at the fire stood up and at a look from Vulmere went to intercept the determined looking lad. But the boy would not be dissuaded, and shoved the taller man to one side.
The Northman didn’t take kindly to that at all. He caught the filthy fellow by the sleeve and jerked him right into his waiting fist.
The waddie’s nose crunched and he slid to the floor.
The back door flew open and Cole stalked in with Skoll right behind.
“What the hell is this?” Cole roared, the most animate I’d ever seen him in all my days. Why, the back of his neck was scarlet!
Skoll took in the scene, then barked sternly at the man that had just laid the cowboy out. The fellow looked like a kid brought to heel, and actually dipped his head as he spoke back rapidly in his guttural tongue.
Cole was standing over his man, and helping him to his feet. I inched closer so as to hear better. Van Helsing got on one knee beside the boy and peered at his lump of a nose, ever the dutiful healer.
“Jack, what happened?”
“It ain’t our fault, Mr. Morris,” said the cowboy. “You got to believe me!”
“What ain’t your fault?”
“Them damn Norgies started it. That big son of a bitch is gonna kill Ranny if somebody don’t do something!’”
I think I led the pack that headed for the open door.
What awaited us outside was a pitched battle of the sort Attila the Hun might have been right proud to participate in. Two Q&M boys were trying to punch and claw their way into a ring of Scandinavians. The cowboys were on the smallish side and the bigger men were responding to their ferocious little dog attacks with derisive backhands and shoves that sent them splashing down in the mud, only resorting to the occasional pulled punch when one of the Americans managed to do something particularly annoying. The rain had drenched the whole lot of them, and the blood from those that had lost any was washed away in the downpour.
Whatever the enraged Q&M boys were trying to get at, it was in the center of that ring of giants. That treetop son of a bitch called Walker was looming over the heads of even his fellows, sprouting up in the center of that circle of mud-splashed bodies like a big organ pipe cactus in a tangle of chaparral. Walker was engaged with something we couldn’t see, something that seemed to be giving him quite a lot of trouble by his crushed and bloody lips. Seeing as how Ranny Brogan was the only Q&M man not accounted for, it wasn’t hard to figure out where he was.
Cole yelled as before;
“What the hell is going on here?”
The cowboys looked over at the sound of their master’s voice, and one of the Scandinavians took the opportunity to punch one of them in the ear.
Skoll’s deep voice boomed its disapproval. The Scandinavians all stopped and turned to him in unison.
Skoll barked an order and they moved aside, revealing a battered and muddy Ranny Brogan picking himself off the soppy ground at Walker’s tremendous feet.
Skoll was already apologizing, but Cole acted like he didn’t hear, and cut him off.
“Ranny? You alright?”
Ranny Brogan squinted against the rain and wobbled on his feet. His shirt was untucked and torn and there was a steady flood of red running from his nose.
“Yassir!”
“Get over here!” he called.
Ranny spared Walker a hard glance and shoved past the other blondes. The two other cowboys took their places beside him. When all three were on the porch, the Scandinavians were still standing in the rain, dominated by Walker, whose long blonde hair was plastered to his broad shoulders. They all stared, not at Cole and his men, but at Skoll, as if waiting. Skoll paid no attention to them. He watched as Ranny stood in front of Cole.
“What happened?” Cole asked.
One of the other cowboys began to splutter anxiously.
“We got the Judge’s buggy outta the mud, and...”
Cole glanced at the cowboy.
“I’d like to get it from Ranny.”
Cole turned back to Ranny. Ranny’s right eye was swelling shut.
“Like Ray said, we got the Judge out of the ditch and were headed back to the house when that big sumbitch slipped in the road. Paul just laughed, and the big one went crazy. He picked up Paul and tossed him like a piece of paper.” Ranny rubbed the back of his neck a little shyly, and shrugged. It made him look all of twelve years old. “Well, I hated to see that, Mr. Morris, so I...I hit him. Next thing I knew, they went and made a ring around me, and well...I guess you seen the end result.”
“We tried to stop it, Mr. Morris! Honest!” Ray broke in.
Cole looked at Ray, and then at Paul, the other cowboy. Paul just nodded his agreement.
Skoll called to Walker. The lumbering man came over. Still the others remained out in the rain. It made me nervous to see them standing out there so quiet, as if it was just dandelions falling on them. I shivered. It was a cold rain, and I wasn’t even under it.
Skoll and Walker traded thick words in Danish or Norwegian or whatever.
Skoll turned to Cole.
“It is as your man says.”
“So what’s his beef?” Cole growled, gesturing to Walker.
“He thought your man was insulting him.”
“So he goes and does that to a man?” Cole pointed to Ranny’s swollen, bloody face. Cole was hot now, and that was plain. You didn’t hurt his cattle or his boys.
Skoll spoke curtly to Walker and the large man went sulking into the house.
“You must forgive him. He didn’t understand,” said Skoll. But he didn’t sound too apologetic. I guess it’s his accent.
“Hell with him! What about the rest of ‘em?” Cole glanced at the men still standing out in the rain. He paused momentarily, and I could see he was as confused by the way they were standing there all quiet in the downpour as I was. But he didn’t le
t it stop him. “What kinda men are they?”
This seemed to irk Skoll. His blue eyes flickered.
“They are mine,” he said, in a voice to match Cole’s.
“Well, it seems to me like you might could teach them not to beat on a bunch of poor dumb cowboys for a giggle.”
“You would do well not to tell me how to run my affairs, Mr. Morris,” Skoll said icily.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Cole said. “I think we’ve said all there is to say to each other.”
“Yes, I think you are right!” Skoll hissed.
“Well adios, then!” Cole said, and walked off the porch toward the corral, not even stopping for his hat and coat.
I called after him, but he wouldn’t listen. Ranny and the other cowboys scrambled off the porch after him.
Helluva way for things to go at a man’s wedding party. Helluva way.
* * *
From the Journal of Professor Van Helsing
26th August
I must change my writing habits. To have to squint under the flicker of the candlelight so late at night is painful to my old eyes. Much to write of.
The Skolls’ party fell to disaster as members of the opposing factions could not sufficiently pretend to honor the unsteady peace their leaders had orchestrated. Coleman left not long into the day with Ranny and the other cowboys, after the employees of both sides participated in an unruly brawl. I was left quite to my own devices, but thankfully Alvin had brought his buggy.
We did not remain long after Coleman and his employees departed. Mr. Skoll was not in the end the charming host he had begun the evening as (earlier he had even been so congenial as to have welcomed me into his home in fluent Dutch). But even before the fight I had noticed a certain coldness in him towards me after the talk of Tyr and Fenris.
Perhaps he thought mine and Alvin’s comments in some way disrespectful to his heritage. I had thought we were only speaking about stories. Certain men will not hear criticisms towards the histories they have been weaned on. I suppose it so, too, with our favorite tales. Men will share appreciation, but they will not readily hear criticism. Yet his reaction was so strong...it has planted the seed of suspicion in me about something else, which has been germinating in my mind since the autopsies of Early Searls and Sheriff Turlough.
I felt that I had offended Callisto too, and I managed to speak to her alone after escaping Alvin. She was not really angry, but she admitted she had found Alvin’s comments a bit boorish. I apologized profusely on his behalf, and we were friends again.
Friends, indeed, for she shared with me much that she has most assuredly not shared with anyone else. Quite possibly even Skoll himself. Certainly not the other men of his household.
She confided in me that she was unhappy in her new home. She was not fond of the emptiness and quiet, and spoke particularly of the lack of trees.
“There are no trees anywhere! And no green. It is like a wasteland. And the stink of the cows, it gives me a headache. There is no one to talk to, Abraham. Not for miles. And Sigmund’s men, they are like dumb brutes. All but my husband’s attorney Ivar, and I do not like him.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He’s...like some...red-headed fox, lurking about. He smiles that ugly smile of his, but he stares as if he were plotting something all the time. I suppose he is like all attorneys, is he not?”
“What is really the matter?”
She was silent for a moment, and she bit her lower lip as she looked at me. It was an unthinking gesture, but it flooded me with emotion. What are these strange feelings I have when she is near? They are disturbing. When I look into her eyes, I see something that I feel I must destroy and protect all at once. It is the same feeling I had in Dracula’s tomb...
“I’m going to have babies, Abraham.”
She said it as simply as that, and it was then that I realized I had known all along, somehow. The flush in her cheeks. The strained look. She had hid it quite well, but when I looked at her, it was suddenly obvious. I wonder if Dr. Ravell knows.
“When are you expecting?”
“Within the next month.”
But this did not seem like it could be true. She could hardly be full term, by the look of her.
Yet, she assured me that she was.
“Have you been examined?”
“Not here.”
“Perhaps...perhaps I could...perhaps I should...”
She actually giggled.
“Oh no, Abraham. I don’t need another opinion. If anyone is certain, I am.” Then her face became serious once again. “But you mustn’t speak of this to anyone. You won’t, will you?”
How could I refuse? I quite understood the scandal of bearing a child a scant month after being legally wed, and how it might affect the Skolls’ already precarious favor in this community. Americans like to pride themselves on their casual attitudes, but they are as prim as the stodgiest English dame when it concerns sex. I swore myself to silence.
I noticed Vulmere then. He was standing across the room from us with his arm draped on the mantle. If his master is a golden Vidar, then Vulmere with his shock of red hair, redder even than mine had been in its youth, is a plotting Loki. I can see how Callisto dislikes him. He has the face of a schemer, narrow and vermin-eyed. He is not like the other men in Mr. Skoll’s employ. The others all seem to exude strength, whereas Vulmere...I cannot say what it is Vulmere projects. Cunning.
Nevertheless, he had fixed his eyes on me, and I could read right away what was in them. A disapproval, born of...envy? Or was it that he found my familiarity with Callisto inappropriate? Had he seen the inscription she had made on my invitation? Did he suspect my intentions less than honorable?
I thought to speak to him, but at that moment Mr. Coleman’s young cowboy burst into the room with news of the altercation outside (followed immediately by an altercation inside), and soon after Coleman and his faction departed forthwith.
After the incident, Skoll roared at his men out on the front porch, perhaps forgetting I could understand his Danish.
“Idiots! Are you children that you allow yourselves to be bandied into brawls with lesser men?”
One of the men replied;
“Are we women, that we should bear with the insults of these camp dogs?”
“No, you are not women....you are men of the Sleipnir! And these shit farmers are not worth staining your hands with! Or am I mistaken?”
There were muttered oaths of assent from the men outside.
The Sleipnir. I remembered Sleipnir as the eight-legged horse that bore the god Odin into battle. But what does it mean, men of the Sleipnir? It struck me odd. There was something I felt I was missing, something itching at the back of my brain. It was his next admonition that I shall not forget.
“Our time will come yet,” Skoll said. “Do not slake your thirst on water when wine is in your reach.”
Callisto touched my arm.
“I’m sorry for this. I will speak to him.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she had left my side and gone out on the porch.
Dr. Ravell and his wife approached me then, interrupting my eavesdropping. Ravell introduced his wife, and commented dryly as to the sour turn the whole affair had taken.
I remarked distractedly that it was unfortunate.
“When you put the red ants and the black ants together, there’s bound to be a fight,” Ravell remarked.
Indeed.
Alvin appeared at my side, and anxiously wanted to know if I could understand what was being said outside. I thought it prudent to deny the truth.
Mrs. Ravell made a comment about the weapons strung about the walls. It was just idle talk, a polite way to distract our attention from the argument between Callisto and Skoll on the front porch. I could not hear the particulars, but Skoll seemed outraged that she was questioning him in front of his men.
“Yes,” said Alvin loudly, pointing at one of the swords on the wall as
he sipped his beer. “Some nice long knives. How old d’you think that one is, Professor?”
It was a Norse long sword with an etched pommel and cross guard. I am no archaeologist, but it did seem very old. Possibly, the hilt was bronze. It was sheathed in a leather scabbard, and I felt compelled to examine it. I went to the wall and taking it in my hands, eased it off the hooks from which it hung.
The relief on the cross guard depicted a Thor’s hammer. Once a pagan emblem representing power and fertility, with the coming of Christianity it had been fused with the sign of the cross somewhere around the 9th century or later. But this did not appear to be one of those cleverly disguised crosses. The head of a beast capped the pommel — a sharp-eared wolf. There were faded runes on the crossguard, but without reference material, I had no hope of reading them. The blade was heavy. I could feel the strain in my arms when its weight left the wall. As I grasped the scabbard and began to draw it out, a heavy hand clamped on my shoulder. I almost dropped it.
“Don’t touch that!” hissed Vulmere. The violence of his words caused froth to leak into his red beard. I noticed dimly that the knuckles of the hand with which he had gripped me were red and raw.
“Ivar!”
This came from Skoll. He stood in the doorway with Callisto at his side, lips pursed in silent anger.
“He meant no harm,” Skoll said tersely. Then, to me, “But it is an antique, Professor. I’ll thank you not to handle it.”
I acquiesced and offered my apology, but I placed it back on the wall rather than hand it to the spluttering Vulmere.
“My friends and neighbors, I am heartily sorry,” Skoll announced to the room. “I think, considering recent events, that it would be better to draw the party to an early close.”
Lightning crashed outside. I could not believe that he meant to expel his guests into the storm, but it was exactly so.
“My men are bringing your buggies around. Please take whatever food and drink you will. Good day.”
Without another word, his arm locked securely around Callisto, he marched past his speechless guests and up the stairs. Callisto stole a glance at me before she was hurried off.
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