Reverend Father Tuajaksson smiled and took off his glasses. “It has been known to happen from time to time.”
“Perhaps, and I mean no offense by this, someone made an innocent mistake and left it out of the copies we examined?” Urban added.
"No offense taken. It is quite sensible that you would come here. Every official copy of the Bok av Familiar in existence is made in this scriptorium, and it is overseen by one person only. Meaning me. We are only as perfect as God and our sinful nature allow us to be. Therefore, it is possible I may have missed something in a copy."
The priest held out his hand and waited, not judging or impatient.
Aske took out the small cloth package from his belt pouch and unwrapped the two rings. He picked out the silver signet ring and handed it over.
"Thank you for taking the time to help us," Urban added.
"My pleasure. A little brain tickler for me. Let me see if I can identify this crest without having to refer to the book, save to prove my conclusion, of course."
He sat back down in his chair and mulled over the symbol, whispering to himself. Low mutters could be heard from behind them as scribes gossiped about their guests. The minutes crawled by. Outside, a flock of pigeons swooped in formation over the gabled roofs of the crowded university campus.
Reverend Father Tuajaksson made a few grunts and then a happy "harumph."
"Soliaettir. I am fairly certain it belongs to the Soliaettir." Pleased with himself, he set the ring down on his desk and opened his bloated personal copy of the Bok av Familiar. Annotations and bookmarks stuck out from all sides like a porcupine of paper, ribbon and string. With practiced ease, he flipped open the Vapenaettir index and began to turn over fat hunks of pages, then two or three at a time, then a single slow page turn till he arrived at what he wanted.
"I was right. The Soliaettir,” the Reverend Father proclaimed with pride.
"This is wonderful news, Father. Where do they hail from?"
"It seems they are from Ninabemniboland."
"Are they a retainer to the jarl?"
"Sworn fealty to Jarl Manasse Eldisson Olinaettir. Oh dear!" Reverend Father Tuajaksson said.
"What is the problem?” An assortment of worries crossed Urban’s imagination.
"If you wish to catch the retinue of Jarl Olinaettir, you may be too late.”
"Why?” Aske demanded.
"He and his whole entourage have received an Order of Abolishment.” Urban and Aske’s faces were blank.
“It means jarls, their factors or any other representatives must return to their lands till summoned again on pain of execution," the Reverend Father explained.
"What?" Urban's shout of surprise echoed off the walls. Every head popped over the tops of their easel.
"Jah, the Visedronning has disbanded the Statsraad till further notice, with plans to reconvein for the upcoming coronation." Then in a lower voice, Reverend Father Tuajaksson continued, "Apparently, there has been rumor this unrest in the streets is due to several of the jarls plotting against the Crown. Best not to have idle hands near the Devil's workshop, if you get my meaning, my sons."
"I do, Father," Urban whispered, brow furrowed.
"Greithr," Reverend Father Tuajaksson said, as a way of concluding the conversation. "Glad I was able to help. I hope..." his words trailed off. "Oj. What do you have there?" he said, watching Aske put the ring away.
"This?" Aske said, unfolding the cloth to reveal the pair of rings again.
"Jah, that. What is the other ring?" Reverend Father Tuajaksson's eyes glittered with excitement.
"We are not sure," Aske said holding out the ring to the priest. Taking it, the reverend stared at the golden symbol set in onyx. Seven arrows radiated from a circle, the longest pointing up or down the length of the finger.
"It is not a signet ring. Nothing to make an impression in the wax. How odd," Father Tuajaksson muttered. "Is this a Hird symbol? Military?"
"We have no idea,” Urban said. “Do you have any thoughts?"
"Not at the moment, but I am quite curious. With all the intrigue going on lately, I wonder if this could be related, or is my imagination getting the best of me."
"We would appreciate anything you could tell us about this symbol. Perhaps it belongs to someone other than the corpse it was discovered with," Urban added.
"You think it may have been stolen?” the Reverend Father asked, voice breathy with the thrill of a new mystery.
"It could be. I took it, and the signet ring, from a bear's larder," Aske said, mouth tight. "I do know it was not one of my men.”
“How gruesome!” The Reverend Father clearly titillated at the ring’s recent history.
He stared at the ring, nodding and turning it over, looking for other markings to give him clues.
"May I keep this for a while?"
Unsure, Urban looked to Aske.
Aske tipped his head to one side and arched his eyebrows granting permission.
"If you wish," Urban agreed while Aske wrapped up the other ring.
"Thank you," Reverend Father Tuajaksson said, giving a quick bow of thanks. "Now you have people to catch, and I have something quite fascinating to consider in my spare time. I shall send Jan for you when I have an answer."
"That would be most kind. Thank you for your time, Reverend Father, and you are right. We do have someone to chase down."
"May the Lord bless and keep you," the Reverend Father said making the sign of the cross.
"And you as well," Urban said, as the two men turned, nodded their thanks to Jan who looked up from his work with a beaming smile, and walked out.
34. The Distance of Family
The Crown's Order of Abolishment transformed a brisk walk to see the mysterious Factor Soliaettir into a frenzied pursuit through a city in chaos. As the Visekonge’s funeral pyre guttered to coals, the Kronaguard and Leidangr militia mustered out en masse causing a frantic exodus that escalated to a fevered pitch. Thousands of pilgrims and Statsraad retainers in various states of excitement looked to return home. Not an hour before, the jarl decamped from his mansion with all his personal staff, and the Visedronning's Kronaguard provided an escort to prevent any delays.
Urban and Aske’s hired carriage slewed around turns and bulled its way through the heaps of filth as it charged to the Toinnsjokanalen quays. A wake of profanities flew from every direction as the four hard-charging caribou splattered sludge from curb to curb. The driver hurled back insults with similar venom. The driver refused to let a little distraction like public outrage keep him from a large bonus. His passengers sloshed back and forth on the benches, surprised by the skill of the madman at the reins as he took every shortcut possible between the Statsraadplassen and the docks.
The carriage passed under an arch that marked the edge of the canal neighborhood, and the streets turned into a dense maze of warehouses. Sucking mud squelched between the old cobbles, the narrow alleys ruined by years of heavy cart traffic, which slowed them to a mere trot. Sunlight glittered off the smelly green waters of the canal. The clanging bells and squealing brakes of locomotives were disorienting as the engine shunted strings of carts along the dockside. A few keel boats and karvi jockeyed for position in the lethargic water. Greasy soot-stained signs hung down from warehouses denoting their owners, as the sun turned the pall of smoke and steam a sickly gold.
"What dock did you need, herre?" the driver shouted over the noise as he waited for a train to pass.
"The Olinaettir quay!" Urban yelled back.
The instant the thinnest gap was open between trains, the carriage lurched and they were off again, a new fusillade of protests followed in their wake.
Ahead, sailors were ready to cast off the lines of a queer looking steamknarr. It was under thirty yards long with an open deck, shaded by a tarpaulin from bow to the wooden aftcastle. The engine was a gleaming black ingot in the middle of the ship sporting a single stubby smokestack. Two off-center mounted wheels with widely spaced
paddles completed its haphazard construction. The pilot stood on the aftcastle using a long side mounted rudder and two throttles ready to push clear of the dock.
The wheels shivered on their wooden spokes as the carriage slid to a halt, nearly colliding with Jarl Olinaettir's team as it began its slow trek back to his mansion. Urban tossed the driver a silver mark for the trip, and Aske leaped from the carriage. The commotion drew attention from Olinaettir archers who shouldered their springbows as the two men ran down the quay ready for any threat.
"Ho there! Is there a Factor Soliaettir on board?" Urban shouted to the huskarls at the end of the gangplank. On deck, Jarl Olinaettir was walking over the unstowed cargo, kicking over a sloppy pile of baggage, shouting at slow deckhands to get it secured. Two or three of the jarl’s attendants shuffled behind him like whipped dogs. He threw open the door to the aftcastle with a bang and vanished inside.
"This is not the time for business with the jarl," one of the huskarls ordered as Urban and Aske jogged up to them.
"Our business is with Factor Soliaettir," Urban said, gambling his uncle had been right. "It is of utmost concern for his aettir. May we speak with him briefly?"
"What do you want with me at such a time?" a voice called from the open cargo hold. A man who was just past the prime of his life, silver threads in his whiskers showing the faintest signs of age, climbed up a ladder and walked to the gangplank. "I am Factor Soliaettir and will speak on behalf of my kin."
His kyrtill was in the ceremonial dark green and black of the Olinaettir, but the jarl wore the now familiar silver crest of the Soliaettir with its vermilion and sienna baldric.
"Good afternoon, Herre Soliaettir. I know we have only a few moments but need to ask you some questions. A few months back, part of a body was discovered under strange circumstances on the island of Neinnvanbjarg. It was found with your aettir's signet ring on its finger, and we wanted to find out more if possible," Urban explained. The factor's eyes grew hard.
"How do you know it was one of ours?" the factor demanded.
"This is your aettir’s crest, jah?" Aske held out the silver ring.
The factor stepped forward and grabbed it from Aske's hand, held it up to the sunlight.
"How do you know this is not a counterfeit?" the factor demanded.
Urban looked at Aske, a little surprised at such a statement.
"Uh, we had it authenticated as being genuine," Urban said, stretching the truth.
"There have been known cases of counterfeits before. Is that why you are chasing after me like a fredlause?"
"I would hardly say we were chasing you-"
"I watched you crash in here, frantic to catch me," the factor accused.
"I-" Urban tried to say.
"My aettir's business is none of your concern, herr. Somehow you came across this ring on a body, obviously stolen or fake and thought that I might know something about it," the factor growled. Urban was taken aback, but then felt that tickle in his spirit that raised his hackles. Something was not as it seemed.
"I am not some common karl for you to bark at, herre. I am Inquisitor Urban av Hitilopt. I am investigating a strange death, possibly a murder, and will thank you to remember your manners."
Now it was the factor's turn to be surprised.
"An inquisitor? Is this Kyrkja business?" the courtier asked with careful scrutiny.
"It has become entangled in another inquest. Will you answer a few quick questions?"
"If you insist, inquisitor," the factor said, cool as ice.
"Is that ring an official aettir seal?" Urban demanded.
The factor looked at it again, his spiritual armor now in place.
"This appears to be a Soliaettir signet ring." His face and voice devoid of emotion.
"Do you know of any strange disappearances in the last few years of clan members who might have had such a ring?"
"No, inquisitor. I do not."
Urban smelled a lie.
He opened his mouth for another question when a double tap of the steamknarr's whistle cut him off, alerting all to its intention to pull out. Lines were cast off by the stevedores and dragged onto the dock.
"This discussion is over," one of the jarl’s huskarls declared. We must sail now or you will answer to the Visedronning herself for violating a Crown order."
Urban bit back his words. He saw a flicker of malicious satisfaction in the factor’s well controlled face.
"If you have further questions, you must come and speak with Herse Soliaettir in Ninabemniboland. He will be able to assist you more than I can. Thank you for returning to us our rightful property from wherever it came, inquisitor. May God bless your investigation." Factor Soliaettir and both of Jarl Olinaettir’s huskarls retreated back to the steamknarr. The sailors pulled in the gangplank, and the ship drifted free.
"The ring..." Aske mumbled, as the paddlewheels began to splash.
"Nothing I could do,” Urban apologized. “I pushed the edges of my authority for this is not an official investigation," Urban said.
"He was lying,” Aske growled.
"I know," Urban said as the ship backed out into the canal and began a clumsy pirouette to align herself with the channel. "And there is not a thing we can do about it."
Aske watched the shadow of the factor returning his gaze as the ship slowly merged into the canal traffic.
Urban wanted to kick something, but all that was available were heavy mooring ropes and quay posts. With nothing to release his rage upon, he stamped hard on the timbers of the dock.
It was wholly unsatisfying.
35. The Intimacy of Enemies
"That old fraud get on your nerves?" a man chided.
"What?" Urban asked as he turned and noticed a stevedore loitering nearby. He seemed to be watching the ship depart with an ugly glare.
"That factor Soliaettir. Just like his uncle, he is. A fraud if you ever saw one,” the man continued. “Fitting he travels on a converted peat cog. That is what makes it look so queer."
"Who are you?" Urban demanded.
"Tandri Nykrsson. We used to be tenants of the Soliaettir back in Ninabemniboland before they drove us off our island. Found copper there, you see, and they stole the lot."
Tandri was whip thin. His hair an unkempt mop of unremarkable dirty brown hanks.
"So you have a feud with them?" Urban asked.
"Had. Those baksteypir drove us out. Scattered our aettir over the entire Union. We can no longer find everyone. Then again, when you belong to the Fellesaettir, there is little protection for you and your kin. If your aettir is not in the Bok avFamiliar, justice is a rare thing."
"Yet you work for the Jarl Olinaettir."
"Jah. We have no complaint against the jarl. Good man most of the time. Very straight with people, but he is hidden behind a screen of vassals like the good factor there." Tandri sneered and spat into the canal.
"Do you know much of the Soliaettir?"
"Oh, jah. My wife and I know a lot. Some day, we will have our revenge for what they did to us."
"Your wife?"
"Jah. She is a maid in the jarl's mansion here. Many a loud keyhole if you get my meaning, inquisitor."
"You listened to our discussion?"
"Oj, thu vethur! The instant I heard you call for the factor, made sure I was close enough. That fubrande lied to you sure as the sun hangs in the heavens. He had no choice but to cover it up."
"Cover what up?" Aske demanded.
“Not sure, but whatever it be, he did not want you learning anything about it. You say that ring he took was from one of them, you can bet that it was. I have an idea on who it might be, but I got no name to go with it.”
“How would you know such a thing?”
Tandri gave a smashed tooth bark of a laughter. "You have no idea who you have tumbled onto, have you?"
"Apparently not," Urban said, looking down at the receding Olinaettir ship, thick umber smoke curling in the slow breeze of the day as s
he passed out to the lake.
“The Soliaettir are dirty baksteypir, one and all. It is rumored that a couple are the jarl’s own private killers, too.”
Urban’s blood ran cold. Tandri saw both men’s reaction and quirked a smile.
“Jah, I can see you two know what I say. You both got suspicions.”
Urban shrugged. “I suppose so. So what is your idea on who the ring belonged to?”
"First, let me give you a little history,” Tandri said and walked closer to tell his tale.
“About five years ago, Herse Soliaettir shows up, I remember because it was the only time I seen his ship tie up at the jarl’s dock. He gets off with one of his actual sons, not just another bastard he sired somewhere on the lakes, and takes him to see the jarl. Boy got himself into trouble and not for the first time.”
Tandri motioned for them to follow as he went about finishing up his chores on the quay.
“So my wife tells me the rest. The Herse came to get some special patronage from Jarl Olinaettir. His boy needed to get far away from his land, greithr? The jarl said ‘No,’ you see. His kid’s reputation got to the jarl’s ear first. Was a wicked fight from then on, thu vethur. Seems that boy what got himself into the same sort of fixes as his pa, but he’s dumber. Did not think he needed to hide his tracks if he was going to dally around. He kept getting his wedding tackle hooked on passing skirts what did not belong to him. This time, she was not of the marrying age. That sort of thing gets feuds real hot, and the Herse did not need another one. He just finished dealing with us, and we put up a good fight. Went down drengr. There is only so much that an aettir can take before it must scatter to survive. You understand me, inquisitor?"
Urban nodded and let the man go on talking.
"Now if you know much about Jarl Olinaettir, he likes a plain talker, thu vethur. Loves himself a good argument, too. So he goes back and forth with the Herse, who sliced his words real fine. This gets the jarl real hot, too, so he gives his oath to put the boy someplace good and give him what he needs. What he forgot to say was that the boy needed discipline and direction. Still the Herse was happy with that fix. It keeps him from throwing the boy up in the dungeon. Too many fathers wanted his boy’s head, and the Herse cannot let them have it. Sets a bad principle. Gives dangerous ideas to the wrong people, and he knew it.”
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 23
