18. Chapter Eighteen #2
Then all at once, three Vikings stepped onto the ship. I hadn’t known exactly what I was expecting, but I realized as I laid my eyes on them that it was more or less this.
All three were unusually tall—I’d guess roughly around Ursa’s height—and broad shouldered.
One was thickset, with almost black hair and a full, bushy black beard; the other two were varying shades of blond, one dishwater and the other closer to platinum.
In tribute to their ancestors, they wore furs and had runes tattooed in various places.
In short, they looked just as fearsome as I had imagined.
What I couldn’t have anticipated was their sense of calm and ease.
They were like three wolves, coming to greet a fluffle of bunnies; physically superior, with more men and better weapons, they knew we were no threat.
It was up to them if we lived or died, and they seemed to find the group of us rather amusing.
Until their eyes landed on Ursa, that is. Their postures shifted almost imperceptibly but immediately as they sensed a true threat onboard.
Each man slightly angled their body toward him, assessing him covertly while addressing Tobago directly. “You are the captain of this ship?” asked the dishwater blond man in the middle, in a surprisingly lilting, almost musical accent.
Tobago, to his credit, managed to give an easy, friendly smile. “That’s what they tell me.”
But the man in the center, presumably their leader, frowned. “Who tells you such things?”
The man with the black hair leaned toward him, murmuring something imperceptible. The leader’s expression flattened. “Ah. I see. Humor. Very nice.”
Tobago’s eye twitched ever so slightly. It seemed he’d been hoping to establish some goodwill with them by bantering, but that was clearly off the table now. He switched tacks quickly. “We are very honored to have you onboard.”
The leader nodded, as if in agreement. Yes, having us onboard IS a great honor. A bit pompous, but at least he was receptive to flattery.
Seeming to have noticed this, too, Tobago pressed, “We would like to offer you a gift to wish you good luck and safe passage.”
The leader’s face remained neutral, but the two men flanking him on either side looked intrigued. It seemed not even Vikings were immune to the pleasures of a surprise gift.
And a very surprising gift it would be—to both them, and to Tobago.
Tobago turned, starting to gesture behind him, toward the canisters of giggle gas. Now was my chance. Before he could speak up, I stepped forward boldly, ignoring Ursa’s tight squeeze of my hand. I released him before he could tug me back into place.
“And a most auspicious gift it will be,” I said, beaming at the three Vikings.
They seemed startled to be addressed by me—not frightened, mind you, just taken aback. “You have a gift for us?” the leader asked me. His eyes drifted down to the parcel clutched tightly against my abdomen.
“Mina,” Tobago warned.
I darted a quick glance at him. It had to be quick, because I didn’t want the Vikings to sense any discord and become cagey. Nonetheless, I hoped Tobago understood the message I was so clearly trying to convey to him in my brief look. Trust me.
Either because he did trust me, or because, like me, he didn’t want to make the Vikings unnecessarily wary, he said no more.
That settled, I looked back to the Vikings, still smiling as I extended my palm. “Dr. Minerva Eloise Smithe-Canfield.”
None of them moved to shake my hand. Rude. Ruder still, they exchanged glances and snickered.
“You are a brave little mouse, aren’t you?” the leader asked me. His gaze flickered past me, to where Ursa was hovering at my back, ready to defend me at a moment’s notice. “Is this your woman?”
I didn’t know if Ursa would understand what that meant, and I was trying to think of how best to translate it for him, when to my surprise, he spoke up tersely behind me. “Yes.”
The leader frowned, tilting his head to study me. “But she is so . . . puny. Like a little vittra.”
I didn’t know what that was, precisely, but I could guess it wasn’t a complimentary comparison. Turning up my nose, I glared at him coolly. “I suppose you don’t want my gift, then?”
Of course they did. Who could say no to a gift? After a moment, the leader gave me a reluctant smile. “All right, little mouse. What do you have for me?”
Taking a deep breath, I opened the parcel and held it out for him. “Amanita muscaria.”
I’d carefully arranged my little stash of the red-and-white-speckled capped mushroom beauties. They could be poisonous if not prepared properly, but I thought it best to not lead with that bit of information.
The three Viking men leaned forward, looking into the tin, then back at me, all with nearly matching expressions, eyebrows raised in skepticism.
People always did underestimate fungi, though, so I’d prepared for this possibility.
“Legend has it that on Old Earth, Norse berserkers would dose themselves with the powerful fly agaric before leaving on raids,” I explained.
According to these stories, the berserkers would use the Amanita muscaria to work themselves up into wild rages, but I wouldn’t be sharing that bit either. If they followed the careful instructions I’d left inside the tin, the Vikings wouldn’t be dosing at a level that would cause a violent frenzy.
“For centuries afterward,” I continued, “people have used the mushroom to begin spiritual journeys and connect with the universe.” At their blank faces, I clarified, “They’re psychedelics.”
Silence, as I held my breath, waiting to see what their response would be.
Then the leader reached forward, taking the tin from my hands and examining its contents. “So, we eat them?”
“No!” If I could have snatched the parcel back, I would have, but aside from that being a huge diplomatic error, the man was much, much stronger than me.
So, modulating my tone, I pressed my hands down at my sides to avoid the temptation.
“No. You take them as a tea. I’ve left instructions. And a recipe inside.”
Frowning, the leader reached into the tin, pulling out the card on which I’d carefully and meticulously written down step-by-step directions. He shook his head, as if looking at gibberish,4 then shoved the card back in the tin with very little care for if it became crumpled. The brute.
“You will come onboard,” he declared. “Make some for me and my people.”
The two friends, still flanking him on either side, looked surprised by this suggestion/command.
They could not be more stunned than I was, however.
I was certain my eyebrows must be near my hairline.
He wanted me to go aboard his ship? That was almost unheard of.
The Vikings of Valhalla were a notoriously cagey, secretive bunch.
There were no immigrants in their settlement, no tourists.
No one was allowed to enter without express permission, and that express permission was only rarely granted.
And their vessels were guarded in much the same fashion.
Seeming to misread my shock, the leader gestured just behind me. “Don’t worry, little mouse. You can bring your man to protect you.” He cocked his head at Ursa, studying him anew with slightly narrowed eyes. “You are descended from Vikings, yes?”
That was much too long a backstory to try to get into now. “I’m sorry,” I broke in. “You want me—us—to come onboard so I can make you tea?”
The leader nodded as if it all made perfect sense. “Show us how to do so properly. Be our guide.” His blue eyes took on a steely glint. “And be close on hand if there are any tricks or toxins in the mixture.”
I couldn’t help but be a little affronted. I would never. But I imagined for a Viking raider, this sort of general distrust was par for the course, so I wouldn’t take it too personally.
“If all goes well, you come back to your own ship.” The leader gestured to the rest of the crew, nodding at Tobago. “And we leave your crew to go on their merry way in peace.”
For the first time since the conversation had begun, I dared a glance at Tobago.
I could see he knew as well as I did what a precarious dance this was going to be.
And he was wondering if I was up to the challenge.
I couldn’t blame him too much for that; I was very much wondering the same thing.
But I nodded at him encouragingly, as if I had the whole thing under control.
“Very well.” I looked back at the Viking leader, straightening to my full height—still not very impressive, considering my company, but what could be done? “On one condition.”
The leader huffed a laugh. “Your one condition is bringing along your man.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Unless you would rather leave him behind?” He grinned at his two friends in turn, shrugging. “I think the little mouse has grown on me. She has spirit. Might make for a fun night of sport.”