"You still look worried. Leif is going to be fine. We have fine plans for him, and once we can get Solveig and Mirjam married, all our dynasty is secure, God willing."
"You make it sound easy," Marianne said, stroking his beard.
"It is not, but that is the magic of the Crown," Gregor said with a big grin, tapping one of the diamond tipped tines atop his head.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," the Visedronning said.
The minister of the wardrobe slipped inside with a sour face.
"If they are on the ship, they are impossible for me to find, my Tign," he answered bowing very low in his shame.
"Are you sure?” the Visekonge demanded.
"My Tign, I am. They are not on this ship. There are too many people around. If they wish to remain hidden, they would have to stay where they were, or risk being caught. If they were in another guest's cabin, even for a prank such as this, those servants would turn them out despite their rank, or at least come and tell me. Do you wish me to enlist help and search again?" the minister asked.
"No, you shall not," her throat was tight, eyes vicious. "Gregor, I think we may have left them on shore… or… or… someone might have..." she said, voice rising with threatening hysteria, her biggest fear lingering just outside of speech.
Gregor's face drained of color as that fear came upon him too. Then, as if struck physically by a memory, he flinched.
“No… no, no, no…” Gregor muttered softly and closed his eyes to remember.
"What is it?” Marianne asked on the verge of panic.
He held a finger to his lips, eyes pinched shut, as he tried to bring back details.
“Gregor," she said in a louder voice, snapping him out of the seething reverie.
“Olivr!” Gregor shouted, startling his wife and the minister.
“What?” she exclaimed.
“Olivr saw Mirjam on the boardwalk as we were boarding!” Gregor started pacing remembering the bustle and his son's bright shouts. “A cabin boy. Olivr insisted a cabin boy on the boardwalk was Mirjam. He used her name over and over again. I thought he was just acting up. Overexcited.”
“Where did this cabin boy go?” Marianne demanded.
Gregor closed his eyes again, trying to remember anything more, then he let out a loud sigh.
“I did not see,” he said with a frustrated snort and hung his head. “I lost sight as the cabin boy approached the Silfryxen.”
Gregor's head snapped up and he gritted his teeth in fury. Somehow Mirjam had figured it out!
“Leif…!” his wife breathed.
Gregor yanked the covers off Mirjam's bed, seized the pillows and threw them about the room in a silent fit. The minister of the wardrobe managed to catch a pillow before it hit his face. When nothing but naked ropes and a broken mattress were left before him, Gregor sat down hard on Solveig's bed, snapping one of the ropes under his weight. He let out a choked profanity and then put his head in his hands.
Marianne came to her husband and sat down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"Remember what you said,” she reminded. “We cannot let her win this time.”
“The girl outsmarted herself,” Gregor growled.
“I know, my love,” Marianne soothed.
“Leif knew the dangers going into this quest. I impressed on him how important secrecy was, and what dangers could be out there. For months I went over all of this. Drilling it into him.”
“Leif will be fine. The girls will be fine.”
“Girls?” Gregor said pulling his face out of his hands, then remembering that where Mirjam was, Solveig had followed. “Ah. Her, too.”
“I know your pride is wounded. So is mine, and this is a setback for both of us, but I have a ready made excuse,” Marianne said.
"How are you going to cover this up?” Gregor challenged.
"Remember when Solveig claimed to be sick and they boarded the Sjovinna early?"
"No. What? When did this happen?” Gregor said tugging on his beard.
"Right after the prayer. Solveig looked pale and felt so clammy I gave permission. The illness will have to serve as the excuse for her not showing."
"Something she ate?" offered the minister of the wardrobe.
"That is good. She did eat a lot of sweets last night. Something may not have agreed with her,” Marianne said.
"A blot of mustard," the Visekonge suggested.
"An underdone potato," the minister added.
"Too many candies. We do not want a prayer vigil for her health outside the palace walls till she shows herself again."
"As you think best. But what about long term? Leif may be gone for three months. How will this be explained away?" Gregor asked.
“Visiting relatives. My family will back up the claim, and we are in talks with the Jarl Alvisaettir as well. Perhaps we can turn that to our advantage with the Vilhoaettir. How were you going to explain Leif's absence?” Marianne asked in return.
“Naval training is the official announcement. It is fairly close to the truth,” Gregor said standing up again. “Getting the boy some seasoning on the waters is quite believable.”
The three sat in silence for a while, pondering the pitfalls of their coverup.
“Very well,” he said, closing the issue. “I leave the matter of our daughters in your capable hands, my Elskling.”
"Thank you, my Tign. I shall leave the details of our son in yours," she said with only a little humor. "But on one condition."
"And that is?" Gregor asked, fairly certain what was to be the price of her cooperation.
"When I do finally catch those girls, I am permitted my revenge."
"You may, and with my thanks, dear wife,” the Visekonge agreed.
24. Ten Lashes
"My back," Mirjam hissed with pain.
"I warned you this was not a good choice," Solveig chided. “Whoever heard of hiding in barrels? Even in the sagas, people were not so foolish."
"That is why it has worked so far. No one has tried it before," Mirjam groused.
Solveig had no idea how long it had been since the paddle wheels started turning.
“I would not say your plan has worked yet," Solveig grumbled.
"Are you trying to get us caught? Shut up and go to sleep or amuse yourself quietly!" Mirjam commanded.
Solveig's back was cramping, too, and her feet had gone numb, but she was not about to give Mirjam the satisfaction of knowing. If only she could sleep. A good long nap would help the time go faster, and the longer they could remain hidden, the better chance they had of not being sent back home. Oh, to stretch her legs.
Why did she let Mirjam talk her into this? Then she remembered Declan. The memory of her rendezvous at the stables was an excellent distraction. She remembered the smell of the stable, the soft hay loft, watching the stars. Hearing the far off music of the ball drift in the night air. Kissing.
Another set of leg cramps broke her memory. When they diminished, Declan's memory refused to return. She started counting the piston strokes of the engine. After several thousand iterations, Solveig fell asleep.
"Get out here you lousy tambakkji skrott'e!" a rough voice shouted.
Rude hands grabbed Solveig by her shoulders and dragged her out of the barrel. The world spun, and she struck her head. Sparks filled her vision and through clenched teeth, she groaned in agony.
"Get up you lazy good-for-nothing!" the man bellowed. A weathered boot struck Solveig in the gut and knocked the wind out of her.
"Hide down here and shirk your duties? The cook has been searching for you, and here you are taking a nap in a barrel. We shall see what the kaptein wants to do with the likes of you! The boatswain will flay the tender skin right off your back, I wager. You hrodinefr!"
Dark spots and sparkles danced before her eyes from the blow to her head. She fought to remain conscious as her lungs refused to draw breath. The wroth man looked into the barrel again and spied the sea bag
in the bottom.
"A thief too? Stealing the kaptein's property? Oh, you will pay for that as well, boy!"
Her captor fished the bag out and slung it over his shoulder.
"Get up," he ordered, but she did not move. Great wheezing gasps escaped from her as her lungs started working again. She was hauled to her feet by an armpit, forced to stand on wobbly legs.
"Come on. March!" he ordered and drove her up the stairs and out of the hold as the deck crew watched. A dozen uncharitable eyes sneered at her as she was paraded across the deck to the aftcastle. Sailors laughed at the young boy's expected fate.
"First day out and in trouble before supper," one said shaking his head.
"Time to christen that back, boy!" another chided.
"You caught the fubrande, Herr Carpenter?" still another asked.
"Jah. Caught him snoring in a barrel. Never even took the kaptein his property,” he answered and shrugged the sea bag for emphasis.
The carpenter knocked on the kaptein's door.
"Herre Kaptein! I found the cabin boy,” he announced.
"Enter," came a voice.
Solveig was thrust into the cabin. The kaptein stood in the corner with his pilot going over the chart frame, examining their course. The carpenter pushed his captive toward the foot of a long table used for the officer's mess. Too afraid to run or speak up, Solveig slouched next to the powerful ship's carpenter.
"Herr Bramson, I see you have found our missing cabin boy,” the kaptein said giving a cursory a glance at Solveig.
"He was in the hold snoring in one of the barrels, Herre Kaptein." A smirk played on the carpenter's face.
"Asleep in a barrel," the kaptein mused before tearing himself away from the charts to face the prisoner. "Creative. Fear get the best of you, boy?" the kaptein asked.
"He had this with him. A bag of your property," Herr Bramsson said cutting off his captive’s protest and placing the seabag on the table.
"I see," the kaptain said, stroking his mustache as he looked at the bag. “That is not mine. It must be his own kit.”
"Herre Kapt-"
"Silence!" barked the carpenter. "You will speak only when Herre Kaptein permits!"
Fearing another blow, Solveig held her tongue.
The kaptein walked around the pair. Herr Bramsson stood at attention. Solveig stared at the floor.
"What are your orders, herre?” the ship's carpenter asked.
"I shall assume that nerves got the best of the boy and be lenient. Three lashes. Bare back. Then put him to his work. I am sure he has many chores to catch up with. Tell the cook his cabin boy has been found and to not spare the rod if he gives further trouble. I will not have any sailor, no matter how lowly, avoid his duties without meting out proper justice.”
"You cannot do that!" Solveig protested, her mouth a bloodless slash of horror.
"Greithr. Ten lashes, for insolence! It will be twenty if you utter another word," the kaptein ordered, stern eyes telling Solveig he would not hesitate having her beaten within an inch of her life if she kept protesting.
She shut her mouth, tears welling up. It was not possible that she was about to be whipped! A daughter of the Visekonge… beaten and whipped by a mere commoner and treated like a thrall!
"Jah, herre," the carpenter said.
The kaptein turned to his pilot. "Herr Strykersson, fetch the boatswain. He has a back to warm."
"Jah, herre,” the pilot said and went to fetch the deck chief.
"Do you wish to bear witness, herre?"
Kaptein Gramrsson thought for a moment, then went to his desk and opened the ship’s log to record the incident.
"No. You have things well in hand, and I have more important duties to attend to than an insolent boy's discipline.”
Solveig was dragged on deck by the scruff of her tunic. The bright yellow sun of afternoon cast long hard shadows. The wind was cold as the Silfryxen cut through Lake Ishkode at full speed. Sailor's loitered, looked forward to seeing some entertainment so early in the trip. To them she was nothing more than a lazy boy who was about to be given a lesson in being a man at sea.
"Looks like he will need his mater to give him a cuddle after this is done. Too bad she is miles away, son!" a sailor mocked.
"Oj! Maybe that is no boy but the steward's niece!" another suggested amid howls of laughter from the observers.
The boatswain came up on deck, a four foot cropping whip in hand. Fingers rubbing the lash, making sure that it was in good condition. He untied the thin string popper. It was no good to cut the flesh, the smack of the leather lash would be enough and not keep the boy from his work. The cook came out on deck wiping his hands on an apron filthy from preparing dinner. His expression indicated how hard he was going to make this boy work once the boatswain was done with him.
Solveig's kyrtill was removed and she was tied to the rear crane, her arms pulled around its main timbers. The boatswain stepped into position a few feet behind and warmed up the whip, swirling it on deck like a snake, getting the feel back in his fingers.
"Ten lashes, the kaptein said," reminded Herr Bramsson.
"I know my job. Now get his tunic up. We do not need a cabin boy walking around in rags,” the boatswain said.
Herr Bramson did as he was told and lifted the hem of the tunic, tucking it into Solveig's collar, exposing her naked back.
"Uffda! I have never seen skin so fine!" one of the sailors exclaimed.
"Do not get any unholy ideas," another rebuked.
The boatswain wound up to throw the first lash.
"Stop!" a regal voice commanded. "Release my sister!"
All eyes turned to the source of the order and saw Leif striding toward the scene, Mirjam and his huskarls in tow. His Sveinnaettir sword drawn.
"Step away or I will have you cut down where you stand!" Leif shouted.
A murmur of confusion went through the crew. It grew even stronger as sudden strong gust of wind caught Solveig's hat, exposing her long strawberry blond tresses, a mirror image of the girl who stood just behind their Tronerving.
"My Tign!" the boatswain exclaimed, releasing the whip and dropping to his knee. "We did not know! We thought her an insolent cabin boy, not a Kronadottir!"
The boatswain began to whisper, "Forgive me, my Tign," over and over again in a frantic prayer. Herr Bramsson loosed Solveig as fast as his trembling hands could manage. Once freed, Solveig ran to Leif and hugged him with a sob of relief and joy. A confused whisper flitted among the crew as they wondered what was to come next.
"Thank you. Thank you." Solveig sobbed and sniffed her running nose. Leif looked at her, then at Mirjam, his expression undecipherable, but far from benevolent.
"Come, we have much to discuss about what you have done."
25. Disobedience Has Consequences
"Had I known, my Tign, I would never have ordered your whipping!" the kaptein pleaded. Solveig stood before him now as a Kronadottir, not a cabin boy. Her face hardened to stone as her wits returned. She remained unmoved by the man’s contrition.
"You passed judgment without giving me a chance to speak in my defense! " she shouted, her eyes tearing up in her outrage. “You had no right!”
Leif stood behind her, arms crossed, with Mirjam cowering behind him in a rare moment of meekness. His sword was sheathed again, but a hand rested on the pommel while huskarls stood at the ready on his flanks.
"There is no shortage of people executed for laying a hand on a child of the Visekonge, let alone trying to have one whipped!" Solveig blasted the kaptein. She wheeled to face her brother. "Leif! I demand you do to him what he ordered for me, ten times over!"
"A hundred lashes?" the kaptein swooned with fear and fell to his hands and knees. He crawled forward taking the hem of her trouser leg. The action nearly ended his life as the huskarls drew their axes and stepped forward. Leif raised his arm and stopped them before they struck.
"Please, my Tign! I was doing what I had to do to maintain
discipline!"
As the drama unfolded, Leif felt like he was outside himself. Kaptein Gramrsson was one of the finest navy men in the Union, personally chosen by Father for this mission. His discretion was sober and steadfast, possessing loyalty without blemish. Now, he looked to the Tronerving, eyes shining, a pitiful wretch. Is this how fast someone could transform when their life was threatened?
"An example must be made," Solveig added coldly, "lest another think they can lay a hand upon the children of the Visekonge."
Kaptein Gramrsson’s face went to the floor, prostrating himself even more.
"Show mercy... I beg of you, my Tign,” he said looking up at Solveig. “I am your loyal subject, serving at your pleasure, but I beg for your mercy for I was ignorant. I was not told you were to be on this voyage."
Solveig said nothing and turned to look at Leif who held authority in the matter. The fear of the lash gone from her eyes. Leif suddenly felt uncomfortable. Is this what his sister became when power fell into her hands? When she took offense? The expression on his face must have confused her.
"What?" she questioned, frustrated with his gaze. “Why do you look at me that way?”
There was a long pause.
"He is right. You are not supposed to be here. Therefore, why are you here?" Leif’s voice was calm but probing.
Solveig’s cheeks began to burn from the question. She looked at Mirjam who turned an even brighter red and put the huskarls between her and her brother. Leif followed Solveig’s eyes and turned to see his mischievous little sister. His mood soured, transforming from confused to offended. She flashed him an embarrassed, pleading smile against his icy glare.
Mirjam's eyes darted about the cabin. "Well, dearest brother, this-"
"No. Do not even start, Mirjam. I trusted you. Both of you, and your eyes just told me all I needed to know," Leif said, his voice low. Hurt. "I understand what has been happening." He reached forward and took the lapel of the kyrtill Solveig wore between his fingers, rubbed the fabric, and scowled.
"Ummm..." Solveig mumbled as Leif looked daggers of disappointment at her.
"I do not wish to hear your excuses either," he said, smoothing the fabric.
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 16
