18. Chapter Eighteen #3
I don’t know how Ursa managed to understand all of that, since I was only vaguely aware of the gist of the comment, but he surged forward, letting out a low, growly noise. All three Vikings straightened manfully—but not, I noticed, before each instinctively took a step back.
This was going to go badly if I didn’t intervene, and soon. “Oy!” I shouted to get their attention back on me.
It worked, though each of the three Vikings blinked at me, as if uncertain which of us—between Ursa and me—had just produced the strange noise. I barreled on, determined to keep their attention on me. “Three conditions now, since you’ve been so rude. One, Ursa comes with me.”
Reaching behind me, I placed a placating hand on his abdomen. Trust me, I tried to say with that gesture. He seemed to understand, since he didn’t growl again, though I could still feel him radiating with tension.
“Two,” I continued, “there will be no sport had, fun or otherwise, with me.”
The leader smirked but seemed otherwise unperturbed, so I continued on with the last—and perhaps most daring—request. “And third . . . I want to know if the rumors are true.”
The Vikings could not be in any doubt of what rumors I was referencing.
For as long as I could remember, and maybe even as long as Valhalla had been a settlement, there had been stories.
Valhalla was the last point of civilization before the endless black of unexplored, unchartered space.
So if other life existed out there in the universe, reason stood that they would be the first to know about it.
Rumor had it, they much more than just knew about it.
They’d been interacting with alien life for decades now.
It was why their settlement was so secretive, their technology so much sleeker .
. . their men so tall and broad. Yep, alien DNA, all of them—how else to explain those almost silver eyes?
And, if stories from not-so-discreet sex workers were to be believed, some had tails. Tails!
I held my breath, waiting to see what their response would be. Slowly, the three Viking men exchanged glances with each other, silently weighing out their response.
Then they laughed. The dark-haired one started, then the two blonds followed. Taking that to be a good sign, I joined in uneasily.
The leader shook his head at me. “The little mouse has a roar. All right. The terms are acceptable. Bring your man. Keep on your clothes. And if I really must, I will show you my ass . . .”
Anyhow, suffice it to say, Ursa and I made it safely back onboard the Trojan Horse after only a couple of hours. Tobago and the other Achaeans seemed frankly shocked that we were coming back in one piece.
They oughtn’t to have been quite so shocked.
Ursa is unnaturally strong, and, as I feel I’ve proven with this incident, I can be quite resourceful.
Plus, anyone who knows anything about Amanita muscaria knows that one of the powerful aftereffects of the trip is lethargy.
Those Vikings weren’t going to be moving much for at least a day, I’d wager.
As we quietly slipped back onto our chartered course, leaving the warship far, far behind, I explained all of this to the crew.
At first, they seemed very impressed by my ingenuity, and for a moment, I got a taste of what it would be like to be a hero.
Pats on the back. Drinks fetched without asking.
The best spot by the fusionfire in the galley.
It didn’t last long, though. “So what’d you find out?” Croydon asked me eagerly. “About the tails?”
Oh, dear. This was going to be awkward. “I can’t tell you,” I replied.
A few of the crew members laughed. They thought I was joking. But when my silence stretched on, they realized I was being quite serious.
I wish I could say more about that encounter, I really do.
But once Ursa and I were aboard the warship, we both had to make vows—blood vows!
—of secrecy. So, yes, I have received a definitive answer about whether or not the Vikings have tails.
And no, I’m not at liberty to share that information, I’m afraid.
The Achaeans were not impressed, to say the least. But what could be done? There had been oaths. Blood oaths!
Tobago, at least, didn’t grumble at me for not spilling the secret; he had other reasons to be upset with me. “I could’ve handled that,” he told me later, when the two of us were alone in his quarters. “You didn’t need to butt in.”
“I wasn’t trying to butt in,” I insisted. “I was trying—”
“What, to usurp my authority? Steal all the glory for yourself?”
The accusations wounded me. I had to blink back tears. “To be your friend.”
The hardened expression on Tobago’s face softened—only ever so slightly, but it was something. “Captains don’t have friends,” he told me. But he reached across his desk to take my hand, squeezing it tightly before letting it go.
1. Your eyes, my love. I haven’t given up hope that you might read this someday.
2. If it actually happened during this time. Which I’m 90 percent certain it did.
3. He was so handy that way.
4. Rude.