Although Rolfborg was effervescent with the return of their wayward son, Aske became the real star. His silent ways made him exotic, and the curious families pried into his life. Aske gave in to their requests from time to time, but Urban became uncomfortable with their pestering and came to his friend’s aid with tales from Athrvorthfestning.
Aske could do little to assist Urban in his hunt for clues regarding the Vapenaettir crest. This form of tracking was alien to him, so he found other ways to keep busy. During the day he took up odd jobs and worked as a farmhand. Aske enjoyed these tasks. The labor kept him busy, gave him a little more solitude and built respect among the community.
Every morning Urban would ride one of his father’s donkeys to the seat of the island’s government in Hitilopt Manor to visit his Uncle Audhin’s chancery. With the permission of the Lendmann, Urban poured over books of genealogies and a copy of the Bok av Familiar that existed in the court. For two weeks he searched through the Hird library looking for anything that could match that Vapenaettir crest but came up empty.
The symbol on the gold ring remained an utter mystery. Not even a false trail or a single scrap of information could be found. Unfortunately, this lack of evidence mocked the brother’s skill as an inquisitor. Disheartened at the weeks of searching, Urban felt he needed to give his mind a rest. The Klarrvatn holiday would provide an excellent distraction.
When the day of the festival came, the town of Hitilopt was resplendent in its finery. Although the port and docks had been open for nearly two months, the official holiday feast would be celebrated passionately. The Lendmann held a feast and carnival that drew in the entire island so grateful Forsamling could give thanks for surviving the winter and declare their high hopes for the season ahead.
Birds chased the whitecaps over Lake Ishkode while the island bathed in the warm promise of the summer yet to come. Jesters and troubadours sang. Actors and jugglers thrilled the crowds with their pantomimes and acts of daring-do. The Lendmann gave a typical Klarrvatn speech and the Curate of Hitilopt gave the blessing. A regatta of fishing karvi and a steamknarr, tooting its whistle, made a circuit of the island, while every spar and mast bore colorful streaming pennants.
A knattleikr pitch was cordoned off in the town common, and men took up the challenge of the sport to the thrill of the crowd. They cheered lustily for Aske, for he was unstoppable. Scoring many a thrilling point through batting with his club or carrying the ball through the goalposts. As the sun climbed high in the afternoon, Aske decided to bow out of the excitement and new men took his place.
"That was incredible to watch," Urban admired.
"On Neinnvanbjarg we play a real sport. Stafurleikr," Aske said with a smirk and nodded his thanks to a pretty girl who brought him a large horn of switchel. With greedy gulps, he drank it down in seconds while she blushed deep red.
"Thank you," Aske said to the girl. She scampered away to the thrilled squeals of her friends who watched.
“I have never watched a game of Stafurleikr.”
“I taught my timberjacks. It is an ancient Skaerslinger game,” Aske explained with a hint of superiority. “This knattleikr is too clumsy. Gentle.” He struggled for the right words before giving up. “In the ancient times, the tribes chose Stafurleikr instead of war to settle feuds.”
"Maybe someday you will show me,” Urban was amused with calling knattleikr a gentle game.
“If you wish,” Aske said watching a scrum form on top of a man not strong enough to break a tackle. The play was stopped and the teams set up for a new pitch.
Urban gestured to the small clutch of girls following Aske’s every move like a giggling flock of ducklings. “You have become a legend on this island, my friend."
Aske went over to a barrel of water, dunked his head in, and enjoyed the cold trickles as they ran down his hot skin.
"Why?" Aske challenged, and looked at the girls. “Because of them?”
Urban was taken aback, not sure how to respond, and chose a different reason.
"A guest does not normally work when they visit. I have more than enough money to take care of our needs," Urban explained. "You are a guest in my home."
"It is not your home, my friend. This is your father's house. You are a guest, like I am." Aske was blunt but not unkind, and Urban's surprised expression spoke volumes. He had never considered that idea before. Aske realized this familiar place would always be Urban’s home in his heart. Nostalgia can play tricks on a man’s sentiment sometimes.
"But you are still my guest here, and I shall take care of your needs."
"I am not your guest. God put us together for his purpose. He will care for my needs," Aske said. "I work and am glad to do so.” He picked up his bundle of belongings under a tree near the knattleikr pitch, unfolded his tunic and began to put his jewelry and phylactery on. One of Aske's teammates waved in thanks as he passed by.
“What if God intended for me to pay your expenses?” Urban countered.
Aske thought for a moment. “I will pray about it,” he said with a nod. “When I get my answer, I will obey. Till then, I pay my own costs.”
“Fair enough,” Urban had no choice but to agree.
"Done with sport for the day, Herr Aske?" a voice questioned.
"For now." He turned to face a white haired man with a clark's stooped back. His apple-cheeked face and puffy lips made him look as if he was blowing a horn.
"How are you Uncle?" Urban inquired.
"Well as age allows," Audhin replied, shaking his nephew's hand.
"After such a performance of athleticism, it seems that many have decided to see what other entertainments are available," the old man said, noting the crowd dispersing a little.
Aske nodded.
"I had a thought last night and decided to follow up before coming to find you. I was certain I had seen that crest before, but could not place where,” Audhin waggled his finger in the air as he lectured.
"Jah, I still have no idea where else to look,” Urban sighed, frustrated by all the dead ends.
"No need!" Audhin declared. "I found it."
Overjoyed, Urban clapped his hands. "Where?"
"I was adding to my collection of salvaged wax seals... You know, the ones in that stoneware jar I keep near my desk," Audhin reminded.
Aske looked confused.
“Uncle Audhin has a curious hobby,” Urban explained for Aske’s benefit. “He slices wax seals off letters and papers which are no longer needed and keeps them in a stone jar, like coins. Unfortunately,” he reproved with a smile, “he forgets about them sometimes and they tend to stick together like a lump of cheese in summer.”
The old man nodded enthusiastically. “Sometimes I make candles out of the lump if they cannot be saved.” He laughed at his ingenuity.
"I found a seal in there. Look at this," Audhin said with a twinkle in his eye. From his tunic's deep sleeve, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Hold out your hand,” Audhin requested. The paper crackled as it opened, and a small blue wax seal fell into Urban's palm. It certainly looked like the Vapenaettir crest, but there was no indication as to who it was from.
"What is this?" Urban asked.
"This,” Audhin said thumping Urban’s palm with a thick finger, “is another notary's seal. I found it on a legal form to our Lendmann from some jarl or another. This Vapenaettir must be a member of a jarl’s staff or council for its seal to be present."
"But which one?" Urban demanded.
"Oh dear. It was one of the lesser jarls. Honestly, I do not remember the document it was originally attached to. But the nature of the seal tells me where you must go to get your answers."
Urban could already guess.
"Dyrrvatn Kastali?" he said with great apprehension.
"How did you know?” Audin teased.
Aske gave a hint of a smile.
"A word of wisdom from on high, I suppose,” Urban said with a shrug.
"That is where you will find your ans
wers, my boy!" Audhin hooted. "Off to Dyrrvatn Kastali with you, and your audience with the source of the Bok av Familiar! If they are not listed in the primary copy, then your task will be even more difficult if not impossible."
"But it would rule out so many false trails. Thank you, Uncle," Urban said, giving the elderly gentleman a pat on his shoulder. Audhin turned to go back to his office and put the seal into his collection jar. The crowd soon swallowed him up leaving the two men to consider their next course of action.
"When do we leave?" Aske was already packing in his mind.
"Soon," Urban said. "I will see when the next packet steamer is headed down the lake or if we must charter a boat."
Aske nodded.
"I think it is time for an early supper. Hungry?" Urban suggested.
"I could eat," Aske replied, and they walked toward the feast tables, content with the knowledge they had finally found their first clue.
23. Missing Passengers
The regatta sailed across the Grohstahyrmunnr, a large bay that made up the northeast corner of Lake Ishkode. Their return point was a few more hours away, just offshore from the Djevleportfestning, a large trelleborg and slipfort that protected the eastern shores and served as a primary army base and port for the navy.
Guests enjoyed the fresh breeze and drank heavily with the festivities. Musicians performed popular songs and sailing shanties. Every once in a while, a nautical hymn was slipped in to please the clergy. Some of the less sober guests danced, while most chatted and enjoyed the trip.
The Visedronning was not having a pleasant time. For two hours now, her daughters remained in their cabin. Den Aerefulle Dame Vilhoaettir had begun to complain about the slight of manners Solveig’s absence was causing, and the Visedronning’s excuses had become threadbare. On the other hand, Birgr did not seem to mind. He had a small court of young damer and herrar gathered around, enraptured with tales of his prowess in sport and hunting, while downing mead as fast as their horns could be refilled.
"As I was saying, my Tign, Marianne," Dame Emilia began in a far too familiar manner, "I think the match is wonderful. The entire Union will benefit by our aettir bonded together by marriage."
The dame’s words were slurred from mead and brennevin, and she was a chatty drunk. It was one of the reasons why the Visedronning could not stand the woman, but for the sake of politics, she kept up the pretense. After all, her aettir controlled much of the richest mining in the Union.
"I agree, Emilia,” the Visedronning said in kind, testing the dame's awareness of protocol. The familiarity slipped by unnoticed, and the Visedronning knew then that she must get away from the woman before she lost her temper. It might be considered rude to lop off the head of a jarl's wife on such a day because of a drunken insult. Still, Gregor had all but commanded her to be polite to their potential in-laws till fortunes and fealty were secured. Then true feelings could resurface.
"Where is that lovely daughter of yours?" Dame Emilia asked as she helped her deteriorating balance by leaning against the ship's rail.
"In her cabin,” the Visedronning said again. “The poor dear was not feeling well this morning. Too much excitement. Mirjam is playing nursemaid."
"Ah! Those two are terribly close to one another. What a blessing!” Dame Emilia praised.
"That seems to be the way of twins," the Visedronning agreed.
"She should come out and let the air do her some good," Dame Emilia suggested.
Nettled by her daughter's absence, the Visedronning believed fresh air to be a good idea whether it helped Solveig feel better or not. "That is a splendid thought, Emilia. I shall fetch her so she and Birgr can spend some time together,” the Visedronning said.
"Wonderful!" Dame Emilia exclaimed with too much enthusiasm and a curtsy of thanks.
Perhaps Solveig really is sick, the Visedronning thought, walking toward the ship stern. Ahead, she saw her husband with Jarl Vilhoaettir on the upper deck of the aftcastle, chatting him up about mining claims and war tax levies. She gave a subtle nod to her husband noting her intent. Gregor returned it in kind with a look that said he was done entertaining the jarl's grand designs.
The Visedronning entered the aftcastle of the Sjovinna and knocked on the Kronadottir's cabin door.
"Solveig? Mirjam?" she called. "Are you awake?"
No answer.
She knocked again, louder.
The door to her own cabin opened and the minister of the wardrobe peaked out.
"Ah! Have you seen the Kronadottirs?" the Visedronning asked.
"No, my Tign. I have not."
"Did you check their cabin when you came on board?" her tone a hair prickly.
"Of course, my Tign, directly after yours was in order. No one was there.” The minister efficient as ever.
"Perhaps they arrived after you did,” the Visedronning said, her mouth symbolically chewing her thoughts.
"It is possible, but I came on board just before you and did not see them while inspecting the ship, my Tign." The minister rubbed his hands in nervous habit.
The Visedronning frowned and opened the door to her daughters’ cabin while knocking again.
"Solveig? Mirjam?"
The room was vacant, beds showed no evidence of use. She opened the wardrobe and found their gowns neatly packed away. Her daughters could not be running around naked, she thought, and looked in the dresser. It was empty. The clothes they kept on hand for cruises were gone.
"This is how I found the room, my Tign. It did seem odd that they would have changed clothes," the minister replied before she could even ask the question.
"I watched them go to the ship,” the Visedronning said, “so they must be on board. Oh, this must be another one of Mirjam's jokes," her brow furrowed. “It is just like that girl to play games on an important day such as this, but why does she keep dragging Solveig into her pranks?”
The Visedronning thought for a minute.
“Search the ship, quietly, and report back here. Do not delegate this."
"Immediately, my Tign!" the minister said and vanished. He did not run but glided with a poise that made most women of the court jealous.
The Visedronning sat on the bed and looked around the room. For now, it was a refuge from dealing with a drunken court she must humor.
Solveig had looked ill. But why were both missing? The Visedronning rose and opened the dressing table's jewelry box. Everything was there. But the cosmetics box was empty. That was odd. The girls kept some minor essentials there just in case. Rouge, face powder, kohl, all of it was gone, but the jewelry stayed behind.
There was a soft knock at the door.
"The minister hinted you were in here," Gregor said as he entered. He saw her face and frowned. “What is wrong?”
"Mirjam is playing another one of her pranks with Solveig, and I am taking a moment to get away from the throng lest I throttle a Vilhoaettir."
Gregor's shoulders jumped with suppressed laughter.
"Seeing the minister in such a state, I felt it was a good excuse to get away from that sweaty pack of panderers,” he said, snooping around the room. “I wonder what it is like to have a friend that does not require a gift?" Gregor considered.
Marianne smiled and walked over, draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him sweetly.
"Well, I want nothing more from you, so you always have me."
"Ahhh..." Gregor smiled. "A sated wife is a blessed thing indeed." His arms wrapping around her waist. "So let us enjoy our escape from that herd of steaming social animals."
His wife leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Mirjam's tricks, I swear to you, will be the death of me some day."
"But where is Solveig then?” Gregor asked.
"I suspect Mirjam finally enlisted her help,” she growled.
"Marianne, you know she loves when you react so strongly to her antics. This time, let us try to ignore what plot she has in mind and make the best of it. She will come out so
oner or later and expect a big fuss and be the center of attention.”
“But the court!” Marianne moaned into Gregor's chest.
“They are still frothing from last night. All the more reason to not react now. If we give attention to her, she will have succeeded and we will just encourage more such behavior in the future," Gregor soothed.
Marianne sighed, appreciative of her husband’s wisdom on one hand, but, on the other, her anger roiled.
"I will try. Particularly with politics what they are."
"That is my little emerald," he said and kissed her on the forehead making her smile.
"What news of the Silfryxen?" she asked.
"Come here and look,” he said moving to the window. She followed and looked to where he pointed. His finger aimed at a sturdy looking steamknarr at the edge of the regatta. “There she is. When we make our turn back, she will steam south instead. Leif and his men are staying out of sight.”
She watched the tiny ship. Close enough to see, but far enough away that few would notice.
"Do you think this plan wise?" she asked.
"We were left with little choice. The treasure will serve as a bulwark if the jarls begin to get out of control, and conscripted men are loyal first to good pay,” Gregor reasoned.
"Is this marriage between Solveig and Birgr as sound an idea as you think?” Marianne fretted.
"If we can get Solveig to start playing her part, we gain much with little risk. Leif is the line, and we know who would make the best match for him," Gregor said.
A smile came to Marianne’s lips as she thought how much of Leif’s life was already planned.
The faint music from on deck had the two swaying slightly to the rhythm. With a burst of whimsy, Gregor went into a dance step, taking a moment to play with his wife where no eyes pried. She laughed, amused at his impulsive nature, and went along with the dance till the song finished.
"What brought that on?" she asked and kissed his hands.
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 15
