by Sam Clarke
‘I needed some time. I wasn’t ready to tell you about him yet. You had been in the dark for so long that I didn’t think a few more days would have made a difference.’
Mum was right, he was the most insensitive man on the planet. ‘Are you ready now?’
‘Knut’s expecting my call,’ he said, opening his desk drawer and reaching for the Iridium. ‘When I’m done, I’m all yours.’
CHAPTER 19
‘By the time you finish your training, we’ll need a new deck,’ bellowed Ariel. I sprang up and rubbed my permanently sore face. Pain aside, I was in a good mood. Since clearing the air with my father, I felt a lot better. The map was back in my thoughts and I was dying to work on it. Isabelle was snubbing me for letting Viggo believe that there was something between us, but my colossal blunder was playing in her favour. To prevent our non-existent romance from blossoming, he was suddenly spending a lot more time in our company.
My father stormed on deck and raised his arm over his head. Before anyone could stop him, he had thrown the sat-phone overboard. Isabelle was right – they didn’t float. ‘You really have to stop doing that,’ said Miguel, looking up from his paper, ‘those phones are expensive.’
‘Did something happen?’ I managed to ask, before being horizontal again.
My father helped me up and cast a worried eye over the boards. ‘Knut’s coming over tomorrow.’
My breath got shallower. ‘What? Why?’
‘He’s interested in the Nuestra Señora map.’
‘Like the Russians?’
‘Like the Russians.’ He exhaled a curse. ‘We should get Valhalla ready.’
‘How many cabins do you need?’ asked Viggo.
‘Three. One for Knut and two for his security guards. Get Noah and Isabelle to help.’
I swallowed. ‘Am I going to be a problem?’
‘No,’ said my father, ‘he knows you’re here.’
‘He just doesn’t want me around,’ I added bluntly.
He patted me on the back of the head. ‘Don’t take it personally.’
I wasn’t sure how else to take it.
#
Back home I was expected to look after my room according to my mother’s strict standards, therefore I prepared the cabin for Knut’s security guard in record time. I popped in next door. Isabelle was entangled in a sheet, trying to figure out the purpose of the fitted corners. ‘I have never made a bed before,’ she said, giving me an imploring look.
I freed her, stretched the sheet across the bed and tucked a fitted corner under the mattress. ‘Have you ever met Knut?’
‘A few times.’ She sensed my agitation. ‘Relax, we won’t see him much. He’ll spend all his time with Magnus.’
I tucked the second corner. ‘Why do you think he’s interested in the map?’
‘He’s big on ancient stuff. Sometimes he acquires artefacts to donate to museums and sometimes he adds them to his private collection. He’s very keen on some of the crusades.’
I tucked in the last two corners. ‘Just some?’
‘He can’t be that concerned with the first – Magnus always says that anything pre-1119 keeps Knut off his back.’
‘1119?’
‘Yeah, like the tattoos.’
I frowned. ‘Which tattoos?’
She unfolded the top sheet. ‘Magnus has a super-tiny MCXIX inked on the inside of his forearm. You probably never saw it because it’s covered by all the bracelets. My dad’s got one too, next to his vermillion cross, but without a machete to hack away at his chest hair you’ll never see either of them.’
‘That’s 1119 in Roman numerals,’ I said, making a mental note about Miguel’s cross tattoo.
‘Duh!’ she replied from under the sheet. ‘I challenged them about the matching MCXIX tattoos. They claim it was the name of their secret fraternity at university, but I don’t buy it. Fraternities are an American thing and they both studied at Cambridge. Also, fraternities’ names are usually made up of Greek letters, not Roman numerals. I’ve googled this mysterious MCXIX fraternity and nothing came up.’
‘If the fraternity was secret, it wouldn’t be publicised.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh God! You sound just like them!’
Viggo barged in, his tense demeanour relaxed when he saw that Isabelle and I were at opposite ends of the cabin. ‘I’m picking up Knut tomorrow morning,’ he announced. ‘I’ll leave early, so you’ll have to make your own breakfast.’
The knot in my stomach tightened. I was running out of time, I had to find out why my grandfather hated me so much.
#
My father had a rare gift for disappearing when I needed him the most: this time, he had gone for a swim. Ariel, arms crossed over his chest, was standing by the rope ladder dangling over the side of Valhalla, Viggo was removing his t-shirt. ‘Why didn’t he wait for me?’ he asked, slightly resentful.
‘He did,’ replied Ariel, ‘but you were texting a novel and he wanted to go before Christmas. He dares you to catch up.’
‘I can take it easy then,’ said Viggo with a wicked smile, before twist-diving into the water. He covered an incredibly long distance in a very short time.
I couldn’t get my father’s tattoo out of my head. While I waited for them to return, I did an internet search on 1119. It had been a busy year, but I couldn’t discern which particular event, if any, had left its mark on my father. A series of weary huffs announced Isabelle’s arrival. I wondered what sort of bed she had made, but it would be for Knut’s security guard to find out. ‘I feel like Hercules after his ten labours,’ she said.
‘Twelve labours,’ corrected Ariel. ‘Unlike you, he didn’t cut corners.’
‘I never cut…’
Her words lingered in the air, Viggo had flung his athletic frame on deck, leaving her completely thunderstruck. He could have passed for a Greek God: his hair was pushed back, highlighting a bone structure worthy of a fashion model and his sculpted body, covered in water droplets, glinted in the sun. He shook his hair to get rid of excess water and thoroughly sprayed her, but she was too stunned to complain. My father climbed on board next. Viggo, hands on his hips, slapped him with a victorious grin. ‘I beat you.’ He panted. ‘Again.’
My father panted back. ‘I’m twice your age.’
‘I’ll get you a new hip for your birthday. Then you’ll have no excuses.’
My father exploded in a boisterous laugh and I wondered if the two of us would ever reach that level of camaraderie. He tied a towel around his waist and brushed past me on his way to his cabin. ‘Come. It’s time.’
#
‘This is Knut,’ said my father, peeling a yellowed photo off the wall and tapping his index finger in the centre. ‘The picture’s a bit old, but he looks very much the same. Add a few more lines and take away some hair.’
I studied the portrait. It had been taken somewhere on a ski slope and my stern grandfather was surrounded by two young men whose grins could have circled the earth. I immediately recognised a much younger and clean-shaven version of my father. The second guy was hugging a Burton snowboard the way I was planning to hug my girlfriend – if I ever got one. I had never met him, but his familiar features left no doubt as to who he was: the other family member who had shunned my existence for no apparent reason. ‘Is this your big brother?’ I asked, pointing at the snowboard’s boyfriend.
‘Yeah, that’s Fredrik. Did your mother say anything about him?’
‘Only that he’s an idiot.’
He chuckled. ‘He can be. But most of the time he’s a great guy. He bought you a snowboard before you were even born. He was dying to take you on the slopes.’
‘Well, clearly, he got a better offer,’ I said, trying to sound detached and coming across as petulant. ‘I’ve been living at the same address for over thirteen years and he never showed up.’
His face darkened. ‘After the accident, he had a hard time adjusting.’
I knew I had put my foot in it,
I just wasn’t sure how deep. ‘Mum never mentioned any accidents…’
‘When you were little, Fredrik was in a serious car crash and sustained a spinal cord injury. He can’t walk anymore, let alone snowboard.’ He paused. ‘The recovery wasn’t easy. By the time he got better, your mother and I were in the final stages of our divorce. She had taken you back to England and we were barely on speaking terms. He thought it best to stay out of it.’
‘Where is he now?’
He shrugged. ‘Not sure, he’s a busy man, he didn’t let his disability hold him back. He sits on the board of Alvastra and will take the reins from Knut when the time comes. Don’t feel sorry for him, he hates that. He’s a Larsson, he’s a fighter.’ He took the photo back. ‘Look, I know that having Knut around is going to be a bit weird, but ride it out, he won’t stay long.’
The cuckoo clock emitted a series of grating noises, the poor bird was trying to scratch his way out. My father punched it a couple of times and the cuckoo went quiet.
‘Why does he hate me so much?’ I asked, annoyed by the quaver in my voice.
‘Knut doesn’t hate you. Not at all.’
‘He certainly doesn’t love me,’ I snorted.
As usual he opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t utter a single word. He put both hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Tell me about it!’
He glided over my sarcasm. ‘I will, but what I’m about to say isn’t easy and must stay strictly between us. Not a word to your mother. Do I have your promise?’
Given his obsession for this promise business, I complied. ‘Fredrik’s crash wasn’t an accident,’ he began. A shiver ran down my spine. ‘The expert we hired to go over the remains of his car discovered a remotely operated device that had caused the failure of the braking system. It was triggered when Fredrik was travelling at top speed on the motorway. It was an attempt on his life, Noah. Someone wanted him dead.’
The hair at the back at my neck stood straight, my father rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but recalling the accident had a profound effect on him.
‘Do you know who did it?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Our private investigators didn’t come up with anything. I don’t have to tell you how badly this shook my family, most of all Knut.’
The adjective knifed through me: his family, not ours.
‘To this day,’ he continued, ‘he considers himself responsible for what happened to Fredrik. Not being able to protect him nearly destroyed him. It was a very dark time, Noah, and Knut made some drastic adjustments to his life. Believe me, he never hated you, but he felt that the less contact he had with you, the safer you were.’
I let his words sink in. Was Knut’s hostile attitude truly a precautionary measure? Did he really believe that ignoring my existence would keep me safer? And from what? His paranoid stance could have explained why my father had gone to such lengths to keep my presence hidden. In a way, thinking that Knut hated me, was much more straightforward.
Revelations aside, I felt a sense of relief. My father had been open and honest. He pushed his feet into his Converse trainers and picked up a t-shirt from the floor. ‘There’s somewhere I need to be. I’ll see you later.’
He slammed the door behind him and left me alone in his cabin. No-one, apart from Viggo, enjoyed the same right. Was he beginning to trust me or had he left in a hurry to dodge all my other questions?
CHAPTER 20
‘Did someone harvest your brain last night?’ boomed Ariel, unrolling a physical map of Scandinavia in my face. Concentrating on the geography lesson was harder than usual – I hadn’t slept a wink, too nervous about meeting Knut.
‘Um… no,’ I replied, considering his question for a second too long.
He drummed his lethal fingers on the Baltic Sea. ‘Prove it. What did I just say?’
I tried to push Knut out of my head. He didn’t budge. ‘Something about Norway being the second least populated country in Europe.’
‘Correct,’ said Ariel. ‘Whenever you meet Viggo you should count yourself lucky. He may have grown up in Sweden, but he’s half-Norwegian, therefore he’s a rare sight.’
The description was certainly befitting. I wondered if exercising with Viggo on a regular basis would have turned me into a rare sight too. Ariel asked us to locate Bergen, Viggo’s birthplace, on the map. Isabelle’s geography was as bad as my algebra: she began her search for Bergen by going over Denmark with a fine-toothed comb. The boards creaked under my father’s steps. He had made an effort with his appearance. His hair was tied back, his goatee freshly braided and he had even bothered to lace up his trainers. His right hand was in the air, fingers at full stretch. Ariel read his sign, rolled up the map and tied an elastic band around it. ‘Your next assignment will be a project on Norway. It must include a defence plan in case of an attack from Finland. Knut will be here in five minutes, get in position.’
Nobody had warned me we would be playing army, but five minutes later we were standing on the main deck, arranged over three rows – a mini-military parade awaiting the arrival of a minor king. My father and Miguel, arms flat at their sides, were at the front. Ariel was right behind them, Isabelle and I had been relegated to third row and instructed to be quiet until spoken to. The formation wasn’t accidental, we were organised in order of importance and I didn’t rank high.
Steps echoed on the metal gangway, each thud bringing my grandfather a little bit closer. He stepped on deck: tall, lean, light beige chino trousers, white linen shirt and a wide-brimmed straw hat that reminded me of an upside-down nest. He had brought his own portable fort, two gargantuan security guards who may have been distant cousins of the Minotaur. Viggo lined up next to Ariel. Knut acknowledged us with a brief nod. The adults bowed their heads in return. Shortly afterwards, the military ranks were broken and Knut gave my father a warm hug. ‘Magnus, it has been a long time.’
His voice commanded authority, but I didn’t detect the slightest hint of arrogance. My father returned the hug. ‘It has, pappa.’
Knut gestured towards his security guards. ‘I’m sure you remember Moshe and Gunnar.’
Seriously? A security guard called Gunnar? The size of Knut’s guards confirmed my theory, the man was paranoid about safety. Moshe was Ariel’s spitting image – big, bald and dangerous to know; Gunnar’s bulging biceps stretched the short sleeves of his shirt to breaking point. The guards were dressed smartly and neither made an effort to remove their sunglasses. Their earpieces were discreet, but noticeable. Gunnar stepped forward and spoke to the emptiness in front of him. ‘We need to sanitise the ship.’
‘There’s no need,’ said my father. ‘She’s got a brand-new security system.’
‘We need to sanitise the ship,’ repeated Gunnar.
‘Go ahead,’ said my father, ‘but you’re wasting your time.’
Gunnar vanished downstairs, Moshe handed Ariel an earpiece. ‘Stay with Mr Larsson while we complete the inspection.’
Ariel stepped aside and left me totally exposed. I could feel Knut’s eyes on me and decided that staring at my feet wouldn’t have made a great first impression. I gingerly lifted my head. Yep, Knut was staring at me with unsettling intensity. My father gave him a terse smile which Knut didn’t return. ‘He shouldn’t be here, Magnus,’ he said. Not a good start. He studied me for another couple of minutes. ‘He’s got something of Fredrik.’
‘He does,’ agreed my father, ‘but he’s a lot smarter.’
Knut chuckled at the joke, but quickly returned to his sombre mode. ‘We’ll talk about this later.’
It didn’t bode well, he wanted me off Valhalla and was talking as if I wasn’t there. I pretended to look uninterested, but inside I was hurting big time. I was flabbergasted when a wrinkly hand appeared in my field of vision. I removed my arm from behind my back and reached to shake it. His grip was firm and stronger than I expected from a man his age. ‘Knut Larsson,’ he said, without betraying any emot
ions.
‘Noah,’ I replied softly.
‘You may call me Knut,’ he said formally. ‘Or grandfather, if you so wish.’
He calmly retrieved his hand and, unexpectedly, gave my father a light pat on his shoulder. This time, they exchanged the briefest smiles. I had been under the impression that there was no love lost between them, but their body language told a different story. Despite their seemingly perennial divergence of opinions, they appeared to have a strong bond.
‘If Valhalla is as tight as you say, it shouldn’t take Moshe and Gunnar long to give her the all clear,’ said Knut, making his way towards the study table and taking Ariel’s chair. My tutor followed him like a shadow, but Knut didn’t seem to notice his presence. Miguel and Isabelle excused themselves and I made to leave too, but my father pushed me down into an empty chair. Viggo, who I hadn’t even noticed leaving, reappeared carrying a tray laden with ornate china cups and a steamy tea pot. He was evidently familiar with Knut’s habits because my grandfather hadn’t asked for anything. Small talk wasn’t Knut’s forte either. ‘Where’s the map?’ he said, airing himself with his straw nest.
‘As soon as your Rottweilers clear Valhalla, I’ll take you to it,’ answered my father. ‘I’m surprised by your interest, though, it’s not the type of thing you usually go for.’
Knut filled his cup with the dark brew, dropped a sliced lemon in it and glanced uncomfortably in my direction.
‘Don’t worry,’ said my father. ‘Noah’s been involved with the map since day one, it’s our little project.’
‘As I mentioned earlier, we will discuss later, in private, whether Noah can stay.’ Knut sounded quite annoyed at having to repeat himself. ‘And I’m afraid you will have to put your little project on hold. At least for the time being.’
‘That could be difficult, I promised Noah we’d work on it together.’
Knut stiffened. ‘You did what?’
‘I promised,’ confirmed my father unperturbed. ‘And you know that a promise cannot—’
