"Good. Let us be about it!"
The door opened without a squeak, and the two girls slipped out of their room, crept down the hall to Leif's empty apartment and initiated their plan.
20. The Deception Begins
This will never work.
This will never work.
This is insane.
How could this ever work?
What was I thinking?
I am so angry with her right now!
They are going to catch us.
I know they are going to catch us!
Solveig was exhausted. Worry had destroyed any peaceful sleep she might have had and filled every corner of her mind. Mirjam, on the other hand, looked as lively as a hummingbird. She thrived on the tension caused by their skulduggery. Every time Solveig waved at the throng of Forsamling who turned out for the regatta's launch, she feared her sleeve would slip down and reveal her secret.
But it did not.
Nothing went wrong.
Solveig knew she looked tired, but Mother did not even give a second glance. The Crown Family waved to their subjects as the carriage passed by. Olivr bounded back and forth with happy shouts. His joyous greetings were infectious and many replied in kind. The Visekonge would stand from time to time to the roar of the crowd. He saluted the sailors in the crowd like they were conquering heroes ready to begin a new campaign and sail the open water again.
Riding down Haertak Boulevard, Gregor played to his people's need for pageantry. Cheering revelers waved banners that represented their aettirs. Some hung them from windows or on lines high above the bricked boulevard. Fancy carriages drawn by jingling caribou and surrounded by huskarls in ceremonial garb paraded slowly between the crowds. Early spring flowers flew through the air and lined the procession’s path. In front of the Visekonge, the jarls and their entourages led the way. Color guards flew their banners on long polearms. It was a jubilant procession in the bright morning sun that promised a perfect day for sailing.
Priests walked solemnly between the Hird peerage and swung braziers of incense or carried icons of the faith while others chanted psalms. As the Visekonge passed by, the crowd merged into a single throng led by the city’s celebrated citizens and guild leaders.
The Domkyrkje's carillon rang continuous arpeggios till the parade reached Dyrrvatn Landing. The Hird's ships waited at the public docks, ready to sail. Several of the lesser members of the peerage waited at anchor, anxious to follow their Tign out of the Dyrrvatn and into the big water of Lake Ishkode.
Dyrrvatn Landing was a public promenade and boardwalk. Its short, widely spaced piers stuck out into the lake like a comb. These piers were reserved for private ships and public amusement, not commercial traffic. The Landing was a social hub of the city with a strip of gardens called the Visekongehagen that separated the city from the boardwalk. Many of the Hird and wealthy Forsamling liked to use it for a place to be seen as well as enjoyed. The entire area was surrounded by some of the tallest buildings of the city.
As the Hird carriages came to a stop on the boardwalk, a heavy line of guards and soldiers kept the boisterous crowd back. Close enough to hear the Klarrvatn blessing, but not so close as to intermingle. The peerage stepped down from of their carriages and milled about as they readied to christen the new shipping season. Servants, pages, damers-in-waiting and factors ran back and forth among the court and clergy in a frenzy to be ready for departure. Stewards were quick to pass out crystal glasses of aquavit for the toast in front of the Visekonge's steamknarr, the resplendent "Sjovinna."
Gregor admonished the Bishop of Dyrrvatn Kastali to keep the blessing short. He was anxious to get out on the water. The bishop was more than happy to oblige for he had been a sailor before joining the Kyrkja and preferred a rocking deck over firm ground. His blessing, both in Latin and in Norroent, was touching and inspiring. While some of the clergy scowled at the use of the common tongue, the crowd cheered, toasted and drank.
That was when Mirjam set her plan into action.
"Mother," Mirjam said, touching the Visedronning’s arm, interrupting her conversation. "Solveig and I will be on the ship."
Her mother looked at the two girls, surprised.
"She does not feel so well," Mirjam said. That was not a lie, Solveig thought, wishing for the comfort of her bed.
"You do seem peaked," the Visedronning observed with a trace of concern in her voice, a thin frown on her lips. She put the back of her hand to her daughter’s forehead. It felt cold and clammy despite her sweating.
"Jah, my Tign," Solveig muttered. "I need to lie down a little in our cabin."
"Greithr, but stay put. I need your help today. Jarlsonn Birgr Vilhoaettir will be joining us for the regatta, and your repeat absences are hurting our chance to get a better bride price. I need you to spend time with him. Prove what a good wife you will be. Make him want you and help our negotiations. It helps you."
"Jah, Mother," Solveig said, feelings of guilt, disappointment and disgust made her sound even more ill.
"I shall make sure she gets better!" Mirjam added, taking Solveig by the hand and walking quickly to the Sjovinna.
Solveig could feel their mother watch them as they walked toward the ship. Once among the sailors preparing to depart, she started to relax. Still, thoughts of horrifying punishments flickered through her imagination.
"Remember, there is no turning back now. You promised," Mirjam admonished as if hearing her thoughts.
"I know! I know! Having Birgr on board only makes your plan more palatable. Fy da!"
There were no guards at the gangplank onto the Sjovinna for they were all protecting the boardwalk. A steady stream of delicacies were still being loaded onto the Hird’s ships. Several parties were ready to begin once their jarls and guests were on board.
The two girls rushed into their cabin and slammed the door. Mirjam pulled the drapes over the small window, so no one could witness their transformation. Just as in the stairwell during the feast, both girls removed their gowns to reveal Leif's clothes. They had chosen his most battered and dirty garments. The clothes looked like something a cabin boy would wear on ship. In minutes, the girls had their hair tied up under soft caps and their cosmetics removed. They looked like tall boys of thirteen winters. Mirjam's plan required a fearlessness that Solveig worried she could not withstand.
Every time that thought started to rear its head, she quashed it and reminded herself they were of the same blood. It was time to prove to herself she was as fearless as her sister.
Once her gown was hung in the wardrobe, Solveig began putting cosmetics and some more appropriate clothing into a seabag.
"What do you think you are doing?” Mirjam demanded. “You will not be needing that frippery."
"If you think I will be spending two or three months on a ship with only Leif's clothes to wear, you best think again,” Solveig said with haughty pride. “Nor will I spend the entire time around Declan looking like a boy. He will not forget that I am a woman."
Mirjam sighed at her sister's vanity and tapped her foot a moment as she thought.
“You are right. I do not wish to be stuck wearing my brother’s clothes for three months either.”
Solveig smiled. Perhaps she had some influence over her headstrong sister after all.
Finding another bag in the bottom of the wardrobe, Mirjam took out her own clothes and refilled the bag with the barest necessities she would need to be comfortable and feminine.
“Leave the rings and jewels,” Mirjam cautioned.
“Why?” Solveig asked, with a hand full of necklaces and rings.
“They may be lost or destroyed. We are going to be on a working ship. Why risk it?”
Solveig bobbed her head side to side considering Mirjam’s advice.
“Probably so,” Solveig agreed tossing the jewels back. “Besides, we might get new jewelry on the trip.” She giggled.
"Greithr, are we ready?" Mirjam asked as she looked about the room, trying to think of what she mig
ht have missed.
"Can we still make it?" Solveig worried.
Mirjam peeked out of the curtains covering the window and moaned. "Oh, this is going to be close. We must go now! They are almost at the foot of the dock! Remember, down the pier and to the left, walk behind those crates and barrels. Try to keep out of sight. Greithr? Or at least look unimportant,” Mirjam reminded. Solveig swallowed hard and nodded. She could do this, she told herself over and over, drawing strength from the memory of Declan’s kiss.
“If I get caught..." Mirjam paused eyes hard as marble, “you get on board. Do not turn this chance down for me. I will be your distraction."
"But-"
"No. I want this for you, Greithr?” Mirjam said and hugged Solveig.
"Jah, I understand." Solveig did not like the thoughts her sister conjured up.
"And once on board, where do we go?" Mirjam asked one last time.
"Into the lowest hold to hide out for at least a day so they cannot turn back,” Solveig repeated.
"Then we come out and surprise everyone. I think Leif will love the joke in the end, though he may be furious for a little while. Now go. I will follow you in a minute."
Solveig opened the door to the cabin, took a deep breath and ventured out.
21. Doppelganger
Mirjam peeked out of their cabin's window through the narrow gap in the drapes while Solveig descended the gangplank. The pier was a chaos of crews readying to weigh anchor. Relief valves hissed incessantly and boilers came up to pressure. Cranes dropped the last heavy casks onto decks. Caught in the chaos of the last push to load before the Hird boarded their vessels, she froze.
It must be too much, Mirjam thought, she is going to get caught! As she watched Solveig, the urge to scream came over her in such a wave that she became lightheaded. Surely someone will see through the flimsy disguise.
“Move, boy!” came a gruff command from an old sailor, several sacks on his back.
Solveig flinched out of his way, and he continued his climb aboard muttering a profane string of epithets though he did not give her a second look. It is working, Mirjam thought. No one was paying attention.
Both girls were used to every eye watching them. From the sly glance to the open gawp, they expected the fascination of men and jealousy of women. It was pleasing and fed their pride. But now, the pressure of being observed was replaced with an unfamiliar void. To the world, Solveig was a boy, almost a man, but a cabin boy, nonetheless.
Mirjam considered this newfound obscurity. It left a strange sensation in her spirit. Far from the freedom she expected, Solveig looked exposed… endangered. There was no security, no comfort. Instead Mirjam saw vulnerability. Is this how the common Forsamling felt without guards and servants? She considered how even common women were given the attention and protection of men. Is this precarious sensation how men feel all the time?
Solveig's eyes drifted up to the Sjovinna and to Mirjam. She had been standing still for too long. With a short chop of a nod, Solveig took a deep breath and with a brisk confident step made her way down the pier to the Silfryxen.
From the window Mirjam let out a long held sigh of relief as Solveig walked away, but something looked wrong. A bolt of panic flitted through her. Solveig still moved like a Kronadottir. The practiced grace befitting a woman of the peerage was plain to see, producing a peculiar gait for a boy. There was no way she would make it past the guards and huskarls like that. Mirjam let out a strangled squeal of fear and prayed her sister would start copying the men around her.
Just as a stevedore was taking an uncommon interest, Solveig's walk became more plodding and coarse in nature. Gone was the proper elegant posture. Solveig even stooped under her bag, giving an illusion of a heavy burden. That did the trick. Solveig rounded the corner at the end of the pier and was gone. Mirjam breathed a sigh of relief and counted to one hundred and twenty before she started her journey.
As Mirjam left the cabin, the minister of the wardrobe's familiar voice barked orders at the servants in the Visekonge's cabin. If he was on board, that meant Mother and Father were not far behind! A familiar page bolted out of one of the guest rooms and ran past Mirjam without recognizing her. It was now or never.
Once on deck she found the gangplank landing was surrounded with early arrivals waiting for the Visekonge. Close by, the Sjovinna's steward was busy checking a list of all the guests. Toward the back of the crowd, she saw something that prompted an evil smirk, Jarlsonn Birgr Vilhoaettir looking over the splendid yacht and talking with his mother. He will be none the wiser, Mirjam thought, and walked down the gangplank using her bag as a shield to hide from the steward and the many others who might recognize her.
She need not have worried so much as everyone's attention was focused instead on all the heraldry that was passing by instead. An inauspicious sailor moving out of the way of those above his station was easy to ignore.
Mirjam felt more and more confident in her ruse as she walked toward the end of the pier. She spared a quick look back to see if anyone was watching. No eyes glanced her way, not even Birgr's. She spun around with a gruff warning from a pair of sailors lugging a large crate. With a quick apology, she hopped out of their way and let them pass. Her goal was only a few dozen yards away, but there stood Mother and Father with their huskarls, the coroner and the admiral.
Mirjam's heart froze, but there was no turning back. She shifted her seabag to the other shoulder which hid her face from her parents. With numb legs, she pushed past first the ring of huskarls and brushed by the coroner. Everyone was listening intently to a glib anecdote from Father.
“Your pardon, Herre Minister,” she said in a low voice.
Mirjam feared it would be recognized, but saying nothing would have been even more conspicuous. All it would take was for one person to look and the game was over.
Then she was past them, around the corner of the pier and walking towards the Silfryxen. They had ignored her. Even the huskarls who should have noticed. Mirjam was both relieved and disturbed. She felt almost dizzy, drunk with success.
"Hello!" a small cheerful voice burst out as she was only steps away from escaping. She looked down and saw Olivr standing in her way.
She had been so distracted with relief that Little Otter was able to sneak up on her. In an instant, their eyes met and he frowned. She could see he recognized her but could not understand why.
"Meemam?" he asked, still cheerful, but now an edge of confusion in his voice. One of the huskarls looked her way.
"I beg your pardon, my Tign," she said to Olivr in her low voice, keeping up the charade as she tried to walk around him.
"Meemam, stop joking!" he said louder. “Is this a game? What game are we playing, Meemam?” his small voice almost a shout. This time she did not answer. The desperate animal need to get away clawed at her. A hysterical urge to run built to a frenzy.
Olivr grabbed the tail of Mirjam's kyrtill and tugged.
“Meemam, what are you playing? Can I play too?”
How could she break free? He had a hold of her clothes. Two of the huskarls who had been watching Olivr came up to collect the Kronasonn.
"Why can I not play too, Meemam?" Olivr bayed at his camouflaged sister.
“Please, my Tign. Let me go,” Mirjam pleaded hiding her face.
A huskarl moved closer, wondering what could have sent the boy into such hysterics.
"Olivr!" came the bellow of Visekonge. "Leave the boy alone!"
"Meemam will not play with me, Pader!" Olivr shouted back, pointing. The Visekonge sighed. Mirjam prayed her father thought the boy was just over-excited from the crowds.
"That is not your sister, Olivr. Mirjam is on the ship. Leave the boy alone,” the Visekonge ordered, tempering his own irritation.
“What is his name?” Olivr demanded of his father, confused.
“His name is Karl. Now let him be," Gregor said trying to satisfy his son’s fixation. “Herrar, if you would, please?” Gregor said to one o
f his huskarls, motioning to Olivr.
"Come, my Tign," the huskarl said as he blocked Mirjam's path. He looked her dead in the face. She gasped out of reflex, and he saw through her masquerade. She begged him with her eyes not to expose her.
The warrior's eyes smiled, and a flicker of a grin crossed his lips.
"Your father wants to board the Sjovinna, my Tign,” the huskarl said to Olivr without breaking his gaze with Mirjam. “Time for a boat ride. We need to let… Karl..." the name hung in the air for a blessed moment, "...be about his business."
"Greithr!" Refocused by the prospect of the cruise, Olivr agreed and ran for the Sjovinna. Mirjam mouthed her thanks to the huskarl.
"Just make it a good one, my Tign," he said. "Only an epic saga will do."
"I promise." Mirjam whispered and walked on as the huskarl now trotted to catch up with the runaway Kronasonn.
“Bye bye, Meemam!” Olivr shouted.
Daring a glance, Mirjam saw her brother waving from the foot of the pier. She resisted the sudden urge to wave back, as Father took his hand and disappeared behind the hull of another ship.
This had better work, she thought with a sigh, and went on to join Solveig in the hold of the Silfryxen.
22. Tugging At a Loose Thread
Aske was surprised at how much Hitilopt island differed from Neinnvanbjarg. The trees were cut back to small stands of carefully manicured timber from a century of management. Between those stands were precise fields and pastures with white stone walls, not quite the full height of a man, surrounding unprotected tiny villages. The sheep were thick underfoot leaving Aske no place for solitude.
Houses on the island ranged from sod huts to timber frames, which were replaced over time with limestone, and capped with steep tiled roofs for the heavy winter's snow. Bright stone buildings could be seen for miles off shore, dotting the bluffs like goats. Urban's family home, where he and Aske stayed, was a few miles inland with a view to the lake on only the clearest days. Over the years the homestead had grown into a small village the locals called Rolfborg, after Urban’s grandfather. Currently, the aettir had grown to several dozen souls. It was prosperous enough for a small kyrkje and a meadhall.
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 14
