Ransacker

by Emmy Laybourne

  “Hello, old boy,” Owen said. He leaned his forehead against the horse’s massive head and closed his eyes.

  Hanne felt that perhaps she should leave the paddock, give Owen a moment to himself, when she heard a voice calling her.

  “Ma’am. Oh, ma’am!” It was the shopkeeper. He was lugging a saddle. It was a lovely saddle, sized for a lady, with a pommel inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

  “The gentleman wants you to have this for a wedding present.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sissel awoke to an insistent knocking on the door.

  “Sissel!” came Stieg’s voice from the hall. “Are you ready?”

  Sissel sat up with a start. From the angle of the sun coming in her gauzy window curtains, she could tell she had overslept.

  Then she was awake in an instant—the night! The gold! It all came back to her. She threw away the sheet and thin summer blanket and gasped.

  There was dried mud in the bed. Her shift was stained, and mud still clung to her feet. But there, in the dish, was the precious thimbleful of gold flake.

  “Are you well, Sister?” came her brother’s voice. Sissel slid out of bed and limped to the door. The soles of her feet were tender. She unlocked the door and threw it open.

  “What on earth!” Stieg gasped as he took in the sight of her muddy shift, dirty feet, and general disarray.

  Sissel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside.

  “Stieg!” A fierce, sudden joy swept into her. Sissel embraced him. “You won’t believe it! Oh, Stieg!”

  “Why are you covered in mud? Are those scratches on your legs? Were you outside in your nightclothes?”

  Sissel had to laugh at his expression of utter bafflement.

  “Brother, I have a Nytte!”

  “What?” His eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Look!” She picked up the little dish of gold flake mixed with dirt.

  He sat, abruptly, on the bed.

  “I had a dream. I think it was Odin—he said, Awaken. And then I followed this call from the little stream outside town. I can hear … no, not hear, but sense, gold calling to me, Brother!”

  “But, Sissel, this is amazing! There hasn’t been a Ransacker in five generations. Or more. Rolf thought they might only be a myth.”

  They traded places—Sissel sat on the bed and Stieg began to pace.

  “The calling you felt,” Stieg said, interrupting her thoughts. “The way the gold was pulling you to it, do you feel it now? Can you sense it?”

  “No,” Sissel said.

  “What about the other metals in this room?” He strode to the door. “The doorknob, it’s iron. Can you feel it?”

  Sissel closed her eyes. She had trouble focusing; there was too much excitement in her. Her face was screwed up in concentration. She jumped when Stieg put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Easy, Sister,” he said. “Try to reach more lightly for it.”

  Sissel released a great breath. She imagined a flower opening in her mind, and there, she could feel it—the iron doorknob. Iron was heavy and phlegmatic. It had a low, unpleasant vibration, almost crass.

  She tried to turn the knob with her mind. No, it was too heavy to turn. Just handling it made her a bit nauseous.

  Sissel cast her eyes around the room. There was the gold in the dish, twinkling and twittering. There was the brass tag on her room key. Brass was lovely, not as warm as gold, but friendly still, and pliant somehow.

  Other bits of metals called for her attention. The iron nails. The metal pulls on the bureau. Her head began to spin with the sudden cacophony of noise. She lay down on the bed, holding her stomach.

  Stieg put a comforting hand on her shoulder. His cool fingers pressed her forehead, testing for a fever. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. Now, closing her mind to the Nytte, she felt so tired she slipped into sleep.

  When she awoke, there was a note from Stieg saying he had left to teach school and that she should rest.

  She was happy to have the day off from school. She spent some time shaking out her sheets and trying to get as much dirt off her nightgown as she could. Then she passed the rest of the afternoon getting to know the metals in her room.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  James watched for Stieg and Sissel out of the schoolhouse window. Sissel had not come to school the day before. When James had inquired about her health, Stieg said she wasn’t feeling quite herself, but when he said it, there was a little smile he was suppressing. Odd. Now they were late, and Stieg was never late.

  In the yard, small boys squatted in the dirt, playing a throwing game with pebbles as markers. The little girls were dancing in a ring, chanting about London Bridge.

  James had a bag of licorice allsorts for Sissel in his pocket, and another bag with identical contents for Alice. There were three other girls the age of Sissel and Alice at the school, but they didn’t seem to like Sissel much. It never failed to surprise him, how mean-spirited girls of this age could be. But he was also surprised by Sissel’s reaction to it—she didn’t seem to care one bit.

  Nate McKinnon ambled into the classroom and greeted James, then Howie Ackerman came in and asked a question about what kind of nails they had at the store. The older students continued to trickle in. Finally Sissel and her brother arrived, discussing something in hushed, happy tones.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hemstad, Miss Hemstad,” James said, making his way to them.

  “Yes, good morning, James,” Stieg said. He crossed to his desk and began to prepare his papers for the day.

  “I hope you’re feeling better,” James said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Sissel said. There was a faraway look in her eyes. She was smiling with some private happiness.

  “How is the bridal suite?” James asked.

  “Quite lovely,” Sissel said.

  “Any word from your sister?”

  Sissel refocused her gaze, coming back to him as if from a distance.

  “No. I’m not sure she’ll be able to write at all, assuming they are hired on for the drive.”

  Sissel was removing items from her school satchel and setting them inside the desk. She lifted her pencil case and regarded it for a moment.

  What was going on with her?

  James put his hand onto hers. That got her attention.

  “We’ve got peaches into the store,” James said. “May I bring one to you later today?” He’d been telling Sissel all about the curious fruits—she’d never tasted one.

  “That would be lovely,” she said. Then she seemed to wake up a bit. “Only, Stieg has asked me to go on a walk with him later.”

  “A walk?”

  Sissel nodded. Her cheeks colored a bit as she removed her reader from her satchel.

  “Very well,” James said. She was hiding something, but what? “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  It made him feel a bit edgy, to be dismissed in this way. He sought for another topic of conversation to pursue, but thankfully Alice came swirling in.

  “Good morning, you two!” Alice said.

  “Good morning,” James said.

  Alice kissed Sissel on the cheek. “We’ve got the most wonderful fabrics in. Crepe de Chine. There’s a Napoleon blue you must see and a light pink, soft like a cherry blossom. That one’s taffeta, but taffeta wears better than people say.”

  “Taffeta? I’d never,” Sissel said.

  “What do you think about taffeta, James?” Alice turned to him, her eyes playful and bright.

  Sissel laughed. “Yes, do you find it wears well?”

  “It depends on who’s wearing it,” James said.

  “What about Sissel here?” Alice said.

  “She’s lovely in anything she wears,” James said, glad for a chance to regain his footing. Flattery was familiar territory. “If you made her a dress out of a flour sack, she’d be radiant.”

  “Please,” Sissel said. “Don’t be silly.”

  Did she look pleased or irritated? He couldn’t quite te
ll.

  “Sissel,” Alice said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Howie asked me to the Ladies’ Aid dance yesterday.” Alice gave a wave to Howie, who blushed beet red and scratched behind his ear.

  “How nice,” Sissel said.

  Alice turned to James, her eyes sparkling.

  “Are you going to the Ladies’ Aid dance, James?” Alice asked.

  “Alice…,” Sissel said in a warning tone.

  “I think it’s time we know our friend’s plans, don’t you?”

  Of course, James meant to ask Sissel, but had been waiting for her to settle in to life in town. He didn’t want to seem callous by asking too soon after the loss of their farm.

  It seemed like now was to be the time.

  Alice stood looking at him with an expectant arch to her eyebrows. Sissel was flushed and scowling at Alice comically.

  “I have a mind to, if I can find the right partner,” James said with a bit of swagger. “But I haven’t got up my courage to ask anyone yet.”

  “James Peavy!” Alice cried.

  “Don’t ask Millicent Crawford,” Sissel interjected. “She’s only seven.”

  James turned to Sissel.

  “Miss Hemstad,” he said, drawing out a pause dramatically, “who do you think I should ask?”

  Sissel laughed. So did Alice.

  “I’m sure I don’t care,” Sissel said. “I’m planning to ask Mr. Collier, the manager at the Royal.”

  Now everyone laughed; the older students had all started listening in.

  “No, no, don’t do that, “James said. “He’ll hook you like a fish with that mustache of his. Go with me, instead.”

  Sissel rolled her eyes with a melodramatic flair. “If I must,” she said.

  James patted her hand. “I’m glad.” He felt himself smiling sincerely.

  “Thank goodness that’s settled,” Alice said. “Now we can get to work on your dress!”

  Stieg rose from his desk. “Let’s get the school day started as well. James, would you be so kind as to ring the bell?”

  * * *

  AT THE END of the day, Sissel bid Alice and James a hasty good-bye, then rushed over to Stieg.

  “Aren’t you coming to the shop?” Alice asked.

  “Sissel and I have plans, I’m afraid,” Stieg said.

  “But we need to get started on our dresses—”

  “All in good time,” Stieg had said. He’d taken Sissel’s arm and they’d gone straight out.

  The Hemstads had an air of conspiracy about them, to be sure.

  James followed them, at a safe distance, but as he was passing the store, Mrs. Denmead came out.

  “Come help me with my parcels, James,” she said.

  “I would … only—”

  “Only nothing! I’ve spent nearly eight dollars here today, and I expect your complete and utter devotion.”

  James sighed. “Yes, ma’am, of course.” He couldn’t refuse her, not without being rude.

  James caught one last glimpse of his mark walking off down the road arm in arm with her big brother, then he gathered Mrs. Denmead’s parcels from the front porch of the store and helped her home with them.

  He was confident he’d find out what was happening in due time.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “All right, you can turn around,” Stieg said. Sissel spun, squinting into the golden afternoon sun. Stieg was about twenty feet away. They stood in a grassy field outside town that was dotted with thick clusters of yellow larkspur. It was railroad land, uninhabited and unused, except for the tracks cutting through.

  Above the meadow, the enormous Montana sky was a deep, friendly blue. Shadows floated along the green meadow, cast by the tall puffed clouds above.

  Stieg had carefully washed and strained Sissel’s muddy pinch of gold flake, then transferred it to the center of a handkerchief and knotted it tight.

  “I’ve hidden three metals for you to find,” Stieg said. “Good luck!” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness for her. She squeezed his hand.

  Sissel took a deep breath, released it slowly, and opened her senses to the Nytte.

  She rotated her head back and forth. There were multiple vibrations, each rather faint. First, she picked out the warm, resonant call of the gold. She walked over to a stand of grass and plucked the little cloth bundle from scrub.

  Sissel handed Stieg the gold. He winked at her.

  She listened for the other metals, but the gold was so close. It was difficult to sense past it.

  “The gold is very loud,” she said. She stepped a few paces away from Stieg, and then a few more. Again, she opened her mind to her Nytte.

  Sissel allowed herself to concentrate on the peculiar sensation she was experiencing, which was much less upsetting now that she knew she was a Ransacker. What she sensed from the metals was not a sound, but she experienced it like one, because she felt a vibration within her body. She felt the reverberations within her core, and each metal had a different song. She could differentiate between them the way an ear could differentiate between musical instruments.

  She scanned the field and caught a pure but faint sound. She swiveled her head until she was locked into the vibration and started toward a small clump of chokecherry brush some distance across the field. The feeling from this metal was different from the gold. This was a haughtier, more restrained metal. Powerful but aloof.

  Stieg watched her weaving around the bush.

  The vibration got louder as Sissel drew near, so she knew she was close. She bent and ruffled the grasses near the base of the chokecherry bush with her fingers.

  Instead of searching with her eyes, she held out her hands. Could she draw it to her, as she had with the gold in the stream?

  There was a flash of movement in the bush as a white bundled cloth fell from its hiding place between two branches.

  This wasn’t actually a handkerchief but a napkin pinched from the dining room at the Royal, and inside were two silver spoons.

  Sissel couldn’t believe the nerve of her brother! They were from the Royal. She looked over and saw him laughing silently. She shook her head at him, pretending to be scandalized.

  Sissel cast out with her senses again, and a faint, grating sound opened in her mind. Like the buzzing of an overlarge housefly. As she approached another clump of grass, she grew queasy.

  She picked up the third bundle with two fingers. She turned her head away from it as if it stunk.

  Stieg walked over and took it from her. Opening it, he showed her the contents—three dark lead bullets.

  “They make me feel sick,” she said. Her voice sounded distant.

  Stieg said something to her, and she asked, “Pardon?”

  He brought his fingers up to her ear and snapped them.

  At first, Sissel thought he was pretending. Then she realized suddenly that she could barely hear the snapping.

  “I can’t hear,” she said.

  She found her legs failing her, and so she sat abruptly in the sedge grass. Stieg lowered down to his haunches beside her. She could see that he was talking. He took out his pocket watch and marked the time as he spoke.

  “I can’t hear you,” she said, probably too loudly. She could hear her voice, but so faintly. Stieg nodded and kept talking.

  After a few moments, with Sissel looking around her at the mute world, his voice began to come back.

  “… of all the Norwegian playwrights, Ibsen is the most innovative, and has such insights into the lives not of men, Sissel, but of women…”

  On and on he went, talking about his favorite playwright.

  “I can hear you now,” Sissel said. “Why are you bothering with talk of Ibsen?”

  Stieg noted the time on his watch. “I just wanted to keep up a steady stream of conversation so I would be able to see when your hearing came back.”

  “And?” she asked.

  “Around three minutes, I’d say.”

  He stood and offered
a hand to hoist her up.

  “What do you make of it?” Sissel asked.

  “We’ve found the curse that accompanies the Nytte of being a Ransacker. Hearing loss.”

  Sissel felt a jolt of fear.

  “Will I someday go deaf, Stieg?”

  “It’s possible,” he said. “Just as there is a possibility I will lose my eyesight. Or that the hunger that accompanies Hanne’s gift will take her life if she fails to eat. Each Nytte has such a curse.”

  Sissel felt her heart sink. She wouldn’t be able to hear voices, or music!

  “Still, I’m pleased,” Stieg said.

  “How can you say that?”

  “It could have been something much worse, such as going mad, or being struck dead without warning, as happens to Oar-Breakers.”

  Sissel nodded solemnly. She often thought with dread of the terrible price Knut would pay for his Nytte.

  “All I mean to say is that we don’t know much about Ransackers,” Stieg said. “But this we can work with.”

  Sissel nodded.

  “I think that’s enough for one day,” Stieg said. “We don’t want to overtax you.”

  * * *

  “THERE IS AN assayer at the bank,” Sissel said later as they walked back to town. “Two of the boys at school were talking about it. He would tell us if the gold is of any quality and how much it’s worth.”

  “We’re not selling the gold.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “What if people ask questions about where we got it? What about mineral rights? It might be illegal for you to have taken gold from the stream, which runs on railroad property.”

  “We need money to tide us over until you get paid,” Sissel said. “We owe all over town—Mrs. Boyce, the Oswalds’ Dry Goods Emporium, the general store. We’re taking advantage of our friends.”

  “Everyone understands what we’ve been through,” Stieg said.

  “Are you telling me it wouldn’t feel good to put a dollar or two in Mr. Collier’s hand?”

  Stieg walked ahead for a moment. He tended to let his stride get long when he was deeply occupied in thought. Sissel had to walk double time to keep up. Her bad leg began to complain, but she said nothing about it.