by K. T. Tomb
Then they bore him over to ocean’s billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled. . . .
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling’s barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one.
Many a treasure fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o’er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes’ huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o’er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean.
Grave were their spirits, mournful their mood.
No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero ’neath heaven—who harbored that freight!
—Beowulf
The door opened and slammed.
A bear of a man hulked into the room. The other members were already seated at the large table in the center of the hall. A fire raged in the hearth behind the table. The other members of the council were sheathed in the writhing shadows cast by the fire. Algoth shook out of his bearskin coat and hung it on a peg near the door.
“Finally,” Caius said, addressing both Algoth and his fellow councilmen. “Algoth arrives!” With a hearty laugh, he lumbered over to the table and the two Danes embraced.
“What kept you?” Djorn asked.
“You know how treacherous this world is,” Algoth responded. “Though the walls here keep most of the… creatures… out, they range free outside our palisades. I even lost a couple of men on the journey here.”
“In the twelve miles between your keep and mine?” The question rumbled from Haldur’s deep chest. Haldur was built like a Danwash longship—tall, wiry and sturdy—and as the ruler of Vorbasse, it was his responsibility to patrol the roads to make sure that travelers could move with relative freedom and safety.
Four hundred and fifty-eight months before, the world had died. The nuclear clock had ticked down to zero as world super powers clashed. The nuclear explosion and the subsequent fallout created a desolate world. There were few areas—primarily those near oceans—that survived the aftermath. Since then, the population had begun to stabilize. Population centers were rebuilt, but the technological advances of the long-distant past were lost. Since that loss, the population reverted to survival methods which they had retained through family trade or which could be found in ancient texts and records. The Danes, especially, recovered quickly, having plenty of resources at their disposal. Access to both the sea and forests enabled them to fish and trade, and the immense amounts of iron in the southern wastelands allowed them to make armor and weapons. Other parts of the world recovered as well—the people of the British Isles were exceptional seafarers and continued to be so. The peoples of what was Western Europe were brilliant at breeding horses. Most of the areas which survived the fallout had some specialty or another. The Danes, however, had become the economic center of the dying world.
“Yes, Haldur. It was only twelve miles. And the abominations continue to get worse. We came across a giant lizard that sprayed two of my men with a venom which melted the skin from their bones. If it weren’t for a well-placed thrust of a spear on the part of Gamal, more of us may not have made it through. That endeavor cost him his life.”
“GAMAL!” the men in the room shouted—as was the custom when someone was killed in defense of kin and countryman against an abomination—and each drank down what was left in their cups.
“Now then, to business,” Haldur said. The men took their seats; each man a hardened veteran and a ruler of a keep.
As the rulers of their individual cities, they were dependent upon each other to maintain society. They had also taken up the burden of trying to discover a new world for their people.
“It is a fact that this world is dead,” Algoth stated.
“Aye,” said Jannick. “Algoth speaks the truth. We cannot stay here. We do not have that luxury anymore.”
“We should have enough time yet to launch at least one successful exploration, though,” Keld responded.
“Aye, we should. But we haven’t. And there is nothing to prove that we will. The explorations we have funded have been, to say the least, less than satisfactory,” Algoth said.
“True enough,” Tor said. “But there is so much that has been left unexplored.”
“Aye again,” Jannick chimed in. “But of the places unexplored, there are some that the Exploration Guild will not send their crews. And worse, we do not have time to explore those parts of the world that the Guild would send their sailors to.”
“Then,” Haldur said, having listened to the others and measured what they said. “Perhaps we must look elsewhere. Perhaps it is time to look at other options for new discovery. We have commissioned more than a hundred Explorations. We have yet to find anyplace, other than here, in which we are able to survive. There has been no place, which the Guild has gone, that satisfies the terms of the contracts we have signed. They refuse to send crews through veils our own sailors have encountered because they are cowards. They fear what they do not already know and they have not one Sentient that is powerful enough to know for certain what lies beyond every veil and that makes them useless to us. We have paid and paid, and we have not received the information or found the place that we have been seeking. This being the case, again, I will state, perhaps we must look elsewhere.”
The room went silent.
“The Guild controls all the findings of every crew which sets sail. They give the contract holder a less-than-fair share of their findings. Anything that comes from their crews, which is not specified by the contractors, is considered theirs,” Tor said. “I myself have lost numerous trading contracts to them because they were able to bring back something better than what I was selling. We’ve all lost to them. Whether of trade, men, or land as punishment for… straying… outside the Guild’s laws.”
“Oh, considering the penalties that would be enacted by the… by the Guild… if I understand what you were suggesting Haldur, we could all be ruined,” Jannick stammered.
“Yes. And if we find a place for our citizens? For our people? For our families? What then? Will the Guild matter then?” Haldur asked.
“I will do what this council seems to want to avoid doing,” Algoth said. “I will hire a black crew, and I will send them looking on our behalf. If the Guild decides to bring down sanctions against us, they will find only my name on their dread list.” Algoth stated the last part with derisive scorn. His opinion of the Guild had always been low.
Jannick pulled out a quill from the pouch at his belt and scratched out a note of credit, which he passed to Algoth. “Here,” he said. “Take this—use it to fund your Exploration.” Algoth made no move to take the note.
“If there is a money trail… anything at all that points to us working together… you know that, if I am discovered, they will come after you, Jannick,” Algoth growled.
“When you get back, have your records keeper put something in your ledger that says I owe you. Call it a small loan, a gambling debt, whatever you please, but take this. A black crew will not be… inexpensive,” Jannick told him.
“Fine.” Algoth took the note of credit. “If there is nothing else then?”
Seeing that there was, in fact, nothing left to discuss, Algoth slugged down the rest of his ale and donned his coat
. He slung his great sword over his shoulder and left.
Chapter Three
The man behind the bar was anything but a bartender, but that was exactly what he was pretending to be.
His white cotton shirt was clean, if a little worn, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The apron he wore was heavy and seemed made of thick, well-woven canvas. The few patrons that were in ‘Loki’s Luck’ seemed to be the quiet, keep their heads down and drink type, so it was a huge surprise to him when the door opened and a bunch of Jarl Algoth’s men entered the bar. They took seats in the main area of the bar room, but the Captain of the Guard—a man known for his sense of strict, black-and-white justice and his no nonsense attitude—approached the counter.
“Evening, Cap,” the bartender said. “What’ll it be for you an’ yer men? I’ll tell you what, the firs’ roun’s on the ‘ouse.”
“No, thank you. The jarl needs to have a chat with you.” Lowering his voice to the faintest whisper, he added, “and your captain, if you take my meaning.”
The bartender looked around the room once, and then matching the captain’s tone replied, “No, I don’ take yer’ meanin’ at all.” Then in a much more normal tone and volume, he said, “Now then, if you don’ wan’ drinks, I’m afraid I can be of no more help to yeh today—but do come back when ya got a thirst. Fixin’ those is me specialty.”
In the wings behind the bar, Yvo waited. He held a short, single-handed crossbow cocked and at the ready in each hand.
This could get messy, but, well… we couldn’t have the jarl knowing what it is we do. This place has to stay clean or else… or else none of us get paid. And perhaps even worse consequences than that, Yvo thought as he prepared himself to take down everyone in the bar.
“Fine, then,” the captain conceded. “Hot, spiced wine. A round for the bar, but make sure it’s well-watered. I won’t have my men staggering out of here unable to stand up straight. And a tankard for you as well, barkeep. Perhaps you’ll join me at a table and rest your feet for a moment.”
“Well then,” Haervey, the bartender for the night—and a member of Jarreth’s black ship crew—replied, “Now yar speakin’ me language!” And with that he wiped his hands on a towel tucked into the apron’s belt, poured the drinks and walked around the bar to join the Jarl’s men.
“To Jarl Algoth!” Haervey said, raising his tankard into the air. The jarl’s men responded similarly
“How is business?” asked the captain.
“Oh, coul’ be a might better if you really want tah know the truth. But any business is good business, don’t cha know,” Haervey replied.
“I see,” the captain said in response. “I suppose this is all you do, right? Serve drinks and food, maybe rent a room to a traveler if one ever comes through? That sort of stuff?”
“Well, now,” Haervey said. “I’m no’ the proprietor of this fine establishment if you know what I mean. But aye, the work is honest and the pay keeps me an’ the lil ones an’ their ma, in food and clothes with a sound roof over our tops.” At that point in the statement, Haervey indicated his head with his forefinger, all the while lying through his teeth about having a family which did not exist.
“Aye,” the captain said, “That puts me in a bit of jam, then.” And he sipped his wine, looking over the cup at Haervey the whole time.
“An why’s tha’ now?” Haervey asked as congenially as he could.
“Because,” the captain replied. “I’m not here looking for wine. Or ale. Or food, or a room. No, I’m here lookin’ for a crew. A crew that some say would be… outside the letter of the law… or so some would say.”
Haervey looked around mischievously and then leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially into the captain’s ear. “Well, now. A crew li’ tha’ would prolly find ‘emselfs locked up quicker’n a thief in the jarl’s treasure room, aye?”
“Aye,” the captain said back. “Excepting if the jarl wanted the thief in his treasure room.”
Haervey looked around again, to ensure that no one was listening in on a conversation that could put the jarl, his guards and the bar all under surveillance by the Exploration Guild in a heartbeat. “Fallow me. Thar’s some people you need tae meet.”
With that, Haervey got up and, in a slightly louder than normal tone, said to the rest of the patrons, “We’re closing up early this evenin’. All of ye ge’ ou’ before I have the jarl’s guards trow ya ou’.”
The group, some with surly looks at having to find a new tavern, and one that would probably be rowdy besides, got up and left. Once they cleared out, Haervey went and locked the front door. Yvo came out from behind the bar, crossbows trained on the captain and his closest guardsman.
“Aye, ok then,” Haervey said, “This here’s Yvo, me lil brother an’ make no mistake, he’s crack with them bows, so nobody make a wrong move and we’ll get this cleared up in no time.”
Haervey turned and walked over to Yvo, all the demeanor of a cheery bartender, friendly tavern owner and host gone from his eyes. The look was replaced with the hard glitter of a gemstone.
“Now tell me, Cap,” he said cheekily, “wha’ exa’ly is it ye wan’?”
“There’s no need for weapons to be drawn,” the captain replied, his hands held up in front of him in mock defense. “Look—my men and I—we don’t even have swords. Just a belt knife for dinner each, and the two of us that carry spears left those outside on that convenient stand you have on the porch. We just want to talk—or rather, the jarl does.”
“Aye?” Haervey looked at Yvo. Yvo returned his glance, one of his eyebrows was cocked with the same tension as the miniature crossbows in both hands. “Well then,” Haervey said, “what is it, exa’ly, that the good jarl wants with a tavern keeper and his…” He looked at Yvo and then added, “Bouncer?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” the captain said honestly. “He gave me these instructions: go to the Loki’s Luck Tavern. Speak to the bartender about meeting with me because I may have some work for him and the rest of his crew. So I got to thinking that there’s not really a whole lot the jarl could need from you and your lot. Then I thought about the fact that he called you folks a crew, and all I could think to myself was, Well, wasn’t that a strange way of referring to a tavern keep. So I figured it must be a different type of crew that you were. Only, none of you were involved with the Guild, at least not that I could tell, from the looks of this place; if you were, you’d be doing a hell of a lot better was my guess. So, if you’re a crew, and you aren’t working for the Guild… well… That doesn’t leave me a whole lot of options. But of course, I could always be completely wrong.”
“Aye, well I guess you’re completely wrong, then,” Yvo chimed in. It was clear that he would protect the identity of the crew as long as he needed to.
“No, you’re not wrong,” Haervey said, and shushed Yvo with a look. “You’ve foun’ the right tavern, aye. An’ you’ve foun’ people who could get word to the captain of our ship. So, where and when would the jarl like to meet? How many people should our captain bring? How do we know this is safe?”
“Well,” the captain of the Guard replied, “as for where and when, now that you’ve accepted, well, how long would it be for you to get in touch with your captain? He is most welcome to set the location and time.”
“Yvo, go. Give Cap the message and ask him to pick a day and time. It’ll be just him an’ the jarl if I haven’t missed my guess,” Haervey said to his younger brother.
Yvo turned and left the tavern to deliver the jarl’s message to Jarreth. If the captain’s response was favorable, he would then return with a date and time for Jarreth and the jarl to meet, and other details such as what would be acceptable to bring to the meeting and how many other people could attend.
After a short period of time, Yvo returned and said harshly, “The Cap said he’ll meet your jarl one-on-one here, in three days’ time. It is to be just him and the jarl.” He shot Haervey a glance before continuing with
his message. “No one else is to be there. It will be a private business meeting between two private businessmen,” Yvo finished.
“Agreed, and on behalf of the jarl, thank you to both of you for your hospitality and the drinks.”
And with that, the guardsmen left, along with their captain.
Chapter Four
Three days later, Jarreth entered the darkened bar room of Loki’s Luck.
He was purposefully unspecific about the time of the meeting when he’d given the jarl a date. He wanted to see when the jarl would show, and how he would get away from his constant hangers-on. It also gave Hugh a chance to get set up and monitor the meeting that was about to take place. Hugh would oversee anything that started to go wrong, and he would relay that to the rest of the crew, who were hiding in the cellar where the ale and chilled wines were kept. They would, if need be, rush up the stairs and defend their captain in any ensuing fracas. Jarreth’s crew would die for him. Some already had—especially on their last excursion. He’d lost too many people, and his back was now up against the proverbial wall.
Hopefully the jarl means serious business. If there isn’t any money to be made from his proposition once he states it, hopefully he’ll go on his way peacefully and not cause me any lasting trouble, Jarreth thought to himself.
In the cellar underneath the main room, Yvo, Haervey and Ingarum sat waiting for Hugh to give them a sign—whether everything was clear or if they were needed.
Upstairs, Jarreth sat at a table with a tankard of ale, a plate of cold smoked meats, cheese and a loaf of bread. It was his favorite kind: black with a hard crust, but a soft interior. It had been sliced and arranged with the other foodstuffs on a plate in front of him for when the jarl arrived.
The man is sure takin’ his time, the captain thought to himself, as he drank down another quarter of his mug.
I don’t know how much longer we—or rather, I—can keep this crew afloat if things keep going along like they’ve been. Every third or fourth time we go on an exploration, we lose someone or we come back with so much damage to the ship that by the time repairs have been made, we don’t even take anything home for ourselves. We need something more… consistent. We also need to keep this tavern going so we can keep what we do have, and ourselves, above water.
