by Ken Hansen
The four in black ducked down on the deck and searched for the mini-hold trap door. Dekanawida found a brass ring embedded in the wood deck and signaled to Yohanan. Yohanan slid his index finger under the ring and pulled. The trap door rose up from the deck, revealing a space only a few feet deep running the length of the vessel, just deep enough for a little storage. Working together in silence, they managed to attach the explosive tubes to the inside of the hull and hide them with extra sailcloth they had brought for this purpose.
Yohanan examined the work and saw that the explosives were fully concealed. When ignited, they would blow a hole about five feet wide, destroying everything in its path. Based on past explosions, it should kill Hugleikr as far as twenty feet away. “Do you have the channel ready?”
“Almost done,” Achak said. “I just need to install the barrier.”
The Juteslams had fitted an oil channel into the Viking ship’s rail twenty years earlier when Skjöldr began using the ancient Viking vessel as a symbol for the Konverteraften celebration. When poured with oil and lit by a torch on the side of the ship, the channel drew the flame up the rail and to the dragon figurehead on the bow. Skjöldr always had a sense of spectacle. This year, the spectacle would blow up in his vicious henchman’s face. The Demoseps’ newly installed channel cut underneath the built-in channel, allowing just enough of the oil to split off to a second path of flame, this one under the deck of the ship and down to the explosives.
“It’s damn complicated,” Yohanan whispered. “I would rather we just trigger the bomb directly.”
“Come on,” Decima replied, “you know it gives us deniability if the thing explodes en route. Plus, it is poetic justice that Hugleikr will light the bomb that kills him, don’t you think? Imagine seeing that on the visi-scan! It will be glorious.”
“If it works.”
She exhaled hard and held up the tiny radio device. “Yoh, look, I promise I won’t push the button until the devil is ready to light it. He’ll get what he deserves. No one else will be hurt.”
Yohanan nodded. She was right. The barrier Achak was installing was an adequate fail-safe. Until Decima triggered the barrier to move, it would block any of the flaming oil from reaching the explosives. But once the tiny barrier blew…
“OK, it’s all in place.” Achak said.
“The sun will rise in an hour and they will begin unloading Quintillus’s ship,” Yohanan said. “The guard changes in a few minutes and we’ll have only a few seconds to cross the dock and get into the cargo containers with our Konverteraften costumes. Slip away from the cargo when you can and melt into the celebration in the city. We’ll rendezvous tonight at seven, sharp. Let’s go.”
Chapter 25
Yohanan stroked the beard he had grown for two weeks just for this occasion. It itched, but perfectly complemented the iron Viking helmet he wore. The helmet came complete with a set of riveted panels crossing at the crown. Together with the beard, the iron section hanging between his eyes and over his nose hid just enough of his face to keep others from recognizing him. The leather armor, sheathed sword and side dagger completed the picture of the ancient Viking warrior. Under normal circumstances, he would have stood out anywhere in New Jutland, but tonight he was among tens of thousands of “Vikings” who had converged on Great Jutland Square. The scene might have been the aftermath of some ancient battle, minus the blood and dead bodies. Instead of death, a slight hint of urine rose to his nostrils from the stone pavement. Undoubtedly, most of the warriors in the square had found covert ways to relieve themselves of the byproduct of intoxicants they had imbibed throughout the day—the last legal alcohol they would see for the full month of Konvertermaned.
Though Great Jutland Square rivaled some of the grand squares of Roma and the Three Empires in size, it lacked the majesty of their ancient structures and the wonder of their modern commercial towers. New Åarhus was still a fairly small city by world standards, but it was the capital of New Jutland, and Skjöldr had gradually made the square into his centerpiece for focusing the Juteslams on his hopes and dreams of inevitable grandeur. The square seemed to be watched over by two huge statues at opposite ends of the square: Helge the Great, the patriarch of the Juteslams, and Muhammad, the great Prophet of Islam. Any Muslim from the Three Empires would hide his eyes from the statue of Muhammad, fearing Allah’s reprisals for what they would consider idol worship; however, to the Juteslam, the statue was but a natural extension of his respect for his nation’s adopted religion.
A small canal nearly encircled the square, winding its way from the west harbor to the fore of Asgard Palace at the far north end of the square and back to the sea through the tidal East River. Around the canal, ornate pedestrian bridges appeared every one hundred yards or so, permitting access to the government buildings surrounding the palace.
The canal opened into a larger pond in front of the palace. The pond was decorated with tiered fountains dribbling water over and through statues of ancient Juteslam kings and heroes. Tonight part of the pond was blocked from the view of the square by a nearly five hundred square foot stage. The stage was protected from the crowd by a low fence line and police guards posted fifty feet to its front. The stage protected its occupants with a transparent, bulletproof acrylic shield. The stage also served as a makeshift dock for the old Viking ship floating in the pond, with its magnificent main sail still stowed in its yardarm and its oars pulled inboard stage side.
In this light, Yohanan could see the dragon’s neck and head more clearly and understood how it brought its own form of terror to the people living near the coasts of this continent a millennium ago. The demonic head towered over the ship with mouth wide, ivory white fangs gleaming, nostrils flaring and eyes bulging.
When Yohanan was a boy and first saw this ceremony, the flame had shot up the rail of the boat and behind and into the dragon’s long neck, eventually emerging as hellfire from the throat of the beast, spewing its fury a full five feet out of its open jaws. After a few seconds, the fire had burned itself out as its light was replaced by a lantern located at the top of the central mast, shining its beacon toward the front of the ship. At once the spectacle represented a tribute to Juteslams’ ancient ways while still fitting their glorious story of conversion to Islam through the beacon of light. The ship also served as a symbol of dominance over the remaining peoples of Tetepe. Tonight that symbol would breathe its flames out its side and devour the worst of the Juteslam leaders.
Searching the crowd nearby, Yohanan found Decima dressed as an ancient Viking shieldmaiden, complete with sheathed sword and wooden shield slung on her back, her dark leather armor clinging much too tightly to her breast. Yohanan smiled. Damn, she always looks good in black. He walked near her and nodded. “All set?”
“If you are. I heard from Raanan. We thought Eliezer was sick. Not so. Apparently he stayed home and then slipped away a few hours ago. Raanan’s going looking for him.”
“Not like him. You broke com silence during an operation?”
“He called Papa. Wanted to know if everything was on track.”
Yohanan shook his head. “He knows better.” He looked around a bit more and found Dekanawida and Achak. Their work was done. Hell, his work was done, if everything went as planned. They were all here to ensure a safe escape for the trigger, Decima. They just needed to stand around and act like stupid, drunk Vikings. That was pretty easy in this lit-up crowd.
The sound of grand marching music began to rise from Medina, the street running northwest from the square, with distant cheers becoming louder by the second. Several thousand Vikings turned nearly in unison, like an army on maneuvers, each soldier craning his or her head to see the oncoming parade cross the pedestrian bridge onto the square.
At the head of the parade, a marching band played ancient wooden flutes, pipes, animal horns and drums. Each band member wore a ceremonial helmet with protruding horns that no real Viking ever bore in actual combat. Behind them sat the night’s special d
ignitary disguised as a mythical Viking king, with elaborate chain mail and battle-axe as props and an enormous helmet covering his huge head and face completely. He rode high up on a platform being dragged behind the band by four oxen. He sat on a throne covered in gold leaf calligraphy and surrounded with four dragon head posts burning torches. The platform depicted the seal of New Jutland and flew its flag. Walking beside the platform, ten soldiers held anachronistic rapid rifles at the ready.
The parade turned left and headed toward the stage. The band continued on, but the mobile platform came to a stop near the stage stairs. A security guard opened a door in the plastic-shield, allowing the mythical Viking king to leave the mobile platform and enter the stage. Several other men dressed in ornate Viking dress, undoubtedly Hugleikr’s lieutenants, accompanied him onto the stage. They sat in ancient chairs with tall wooden backs intricately carved with various sea serpents.
The mythical Viking king walked to the podium and removed his helmet, revealing nearly orange hair. He raised his battle-axe to the crowd. A murmur, followed by a growing cheer, worked its way back through the huge square. A tall Viking next to Yohanan yelled as he looked through a set of binoculars, “It is Vice Regent Hugleikr!” Then the crowd around Yohanan began to applaud and cheer wildly.
Yohanan’s lip curled as he exhaled forcefully through his nose. Did these men and women truly love this murdering madman? Or were they merely playing up their loyalty for the security cameras? Too often we blame leaders for their bloodlust, and rightly so, but do they not just embrace the wishes of the mob, who cry for blood when fear strikes them, whether justified or not?
After a few minutes, Hugleikr set down his battle-axe and motioned to the crowd to be quiet. The crowd refused to obey, which Hugleikr clearly enjoyed. Appearing to show some persistence, Hugleikr eventually managed to quiet the crowd. But he riled them up again with his first statement, “Welcome, Juteslams, to Konverteraften!”
After a few more calming gestures, he began his ceremonial speech, “My fellow Juteslams, we are here not only to celebrate our Nordic past but also to renew our welcome of Islam to our world.”
“Allahu Akbar!” yelled several in the crowd.
“You and I are all dressed in ancient Viking garb to recall our people’s great glory in coming to Tetepe over a thousand years ago. When our ancestors arrived in just a few ships from Jutland and found this wilderness, they encountered armed opposition from local warriors of the Algonquin and Iroquois tribes. Did they shrink from these barbarous attacks? No, and thank Allah, for our ancestors would have been swept into the sea and none of us would be alive today. Instead, though greatly outnumbered, they defended themselves against these savages and in only a little over a hundred years came to dominate the entire North Atlantic Coast of Tetepe. The ship you see behind me,” announced Hugleikr, waving his arm outstretched toward the Viking ship, “this beautiful relic of our glorious past, was just one of many vessels that helped our brave warriors extend our domain on this continent.” The crowd applauded.
Several Vikings had pressed between Decima and Yohanan. He took a step forward and saw her several feet to his right. He nodded slightly and she returned the gesture.
Hugleikr’s arms drew apart as if trying to envelop the whole crowd. “Tonight, we celebrate this honored history. However, it shall always be only half of the story and half of the celebration. For without the second half we would have been lost, without our guide, without our master, without the great purpose that has kept us alive for these last nearly nine hundred years. Without Him, we would have shriveled up and disappeared when faced with the conquests of the Aztec Empire. We would have been assimilated into its culture like so many others before us. But we were strong. We were resolute. We did not waver. We may have come to this continent as a group of warriors who prayed to the false idols of Odin and Thor, but we became a true people when we turned our faith to the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful, the Most Just, Allah!”
Yohanan looked around at two guards making their way through the crowd with rap rifles at their side. One pointed at him, and he froze. Then the pointer laughed heartily to his buddy. Yohanan turned and saw behind him an enormous Odin weighing nearly 350 librae, patch over his eye, horns to the sky, spear in hand, swaying like a tree in the wind while a few smaller Viking friends struggled to keep him upright. When Yohanan turned back, the guards had already disappeared back into the crowd.
Hugleikr lowered his arms. “Tomorrow is the 878th anniversary of Helge the Great’s conversion to Islam. And tomorrow we will begin our month of fasting and purification in honor of our Lord and the many great kings who have served him. But tonight, on the eve of this noble event, on this Konverteraften, we celebrate with joy the one true people who have been brought to the light of Allah on this continent, the Juteslams!” The crowd cheered loudly, and Decima, now a good five feet away, put her hands over her ears.
Yohanan jerked his head toward Decima. Had something dropped from her pocket? He shoved one Viking aside and stepped toward her and saw the crushed cup beneath her foot, a nearby Viking almost weeping at its spilt contents. Yohanan saw her return her hands to her pockets with no change to her expression. All was well. He looked back to the stage.
Hugleikr clapped for a few seconds, his thick orange locks and beard bouncing with each connection of his palms. “Yes, we celebrate you all. On behalf of our great King Skjöldr, I say, ‘Thank you to each and every one of you.’ For all of you Juteslams are honorable people dedicated to the will of Allah. But we all know that not everyone in Tetepe is so honorable or so dedicated. No, there are far too many evil ones in this land who choose darkness over light, destruction over peace, and certain death over life. They do this because they have never dedicated themselves to the grace of our Lord. They are unable to see the great generosity of Skjöldr, who in the service of Allah has offered them an olive branch of peace. Not just any peace. It is a peace that would embrace the holy among them wholeheartedly and bring them into our Juteslam fold. It is a peace that would mercifully allow the unholy savages to live separately with their own kind. It is a peace that would allow Juteslams to continue to protect themselves from the contamination of the filthy ways of the Demoseps.”
Yohanan bit his lip hard and checked himself from shaking his head. He saw Decima with her head on a pivot, unable to restrain her reactions, even for the sake of the mission. Nobody seemed to notice.
Hugleikr’s pitch only increased. “Yet this shaitaanist people, led by the Jews, reject our offer of peace. These shaitaanists think that by striking fear into our hearts, we will shrink from our beliefs and our duty to Allah. But they forget one important thing. They forget who we Juteslams are. They forget the blood that still burns in our veins. They forget that we are still Vikings.” The crowed roared with approval.
“And like the Vikings who first came to these troubled shores a millennium ago, we will not shrink from their barbarous attacks. We will not take one step back. We will, together, move forward. Now, please do not misunderstand me. I cannot promise you that more of our people will not succumb to heinous death at the hands of these killers. But I know, with your help, we can hunt down these barbarians, and soon, very soon, we will eliminate each and every one of these blights upon our peaceful society. To accomplish this, we must all be vigilant. We must all look around us for spies that undermine our society and serve the will of Shaitan, the devil. And we must all be resolute. Are you with us?”
The crowd roared back “Yes!”
Yohanan felt someone strike his left shoulder hard, the pain shooting down his arm. He whipped around, arms raised, ready to fight back. There lay Odin, out cold, his buddies trying to lift his drunken carcass off the pavement. Yohanan shook his head and moved to his right, looking back to the stage.
Hugleikr was gesturing with his fists in the air. “Then let us put these troubles aside for the moment and celebrate Helge the Great’s noble conversion to our faith.” He left the podium but too
k the microphone with him. He proceeded to near the front of the stage and lifted a large torch from its stand and began walking back toward the ship. “Our ancestors came to this world by the light of the stars and the glare of the dragons’ eyes.” He held the torch up high as he approached the ship. After a short pause, he added, “On this continent we found a new beacon for hope.”
Another pause. Yohanan looked over at Decima and saw her glaring at the stage, her hand fumbling in her pocket. No doubt she was ready. Not yet. Wait.
Hugleikr continued, “And so, I light the dragon’s breath on this ship as a symbol of the brave men and women who first came to this land seeking a new life and here found their great and powerful leader in Heaven.” He began to lower the torch down to the ship’s rail, but when it was less than a half foot from lighting the fire, he paused a moment, then raised the torch again. “But who am I to light this symbol of our greatness? I am a servant of you, the Juteslam people. Helge the Great was only one man converting to Islam; it took the people following his lead to make us a people of followers in the eyes of Allah. And so, I think it fitting that the people light the dragon’s head tonight! Guards, open the doors and choose fifty good Viking volunteers.” At that statement, the crowd surged toward the stage with thousands hoping to have the honor of lighting the dragon.
Yohanan turned in the direction of Decima, his mouth agape and chest thumping. At first, he could not find her. But then he saw her a good ten yards ahead of him, being shoved to the side by the surging crowd. He weaved his way as best he could through the throng, reaching her nearly a minute later. “Please tell me you have not tripped the barrier.”