Crimson's Captivation (17 page)

Viktor rolled to his side. “Get some sleep,
men. Tomorrow we’re on the Baltic and I fear it will be hell.”

Chapter VI

~ Crimson and Tor ~

Early in the morning, the countess was up,
not because she wanted to capture the day, but because a caretaker
woke her with news that Sena was deathly ill. She rolled to her
side to find Tor was already up and about.

“Ill?” the countess asked peeling open her
eyes.

“Yes, my lady. She’s very hot and her face is
pale.”

“Very well, get my robe and bring me some
tea. I will see what’s wrong with this girl.”

“One other thing, my lady.”

“What?” the countess asked agitated as she
sat up in bed. “What is it?”

“The other one, the one named Crimson, she is
not in her quarters.”

The countess’s jaw tightened. She mumbled,
“He had not better be…” as she looked at the empty spot where her
husband should be.

“Shall I instruct the guards to begin a
search?” the caretaker asked.

“No!” the countess barked, “No! Don’t do a
thing! I will find my husband and I’m sure I will find Crimson,
too. Tend to the sick girl. I will check on her later.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The countess pulled her robe roughly onto her
shoulders and cinched it across her mid-section. She stomped out of
her bedroom and made her way to Darya’s room. She opened the door
to see Darya sleeping. She silently closed the door and stomped
down the long hallway. Her breaths raged from her body in huffs and
puffs. She stopped near the courtyard exit, thinking where they
might be. The courtyard maybe? No, far too cold. The stables? Tor
wasn’t that patient. Then she knew and went directly to the bathing
pool.

She slowly opened the door. The warm air
touched the soft skin of her face and vapor sat on the surface of
the pool water like fog. She quickly and silently closed the door
behind her and waited until her eyes adjusted to the nearly dark
room. Moisture that had collected on the ceiling dripped in drops
onto the stone floor and water, a pitter-patter of gossip the
countess thought. She eased around the left side of room and heard
the muted sounds of sex. She snuck along the wall until she was
almost at the storage room and stopped, listening intently.

Tor was making shushing sounds. His requests
were quiet, guilt driven and barely audible over the muted protests
of Crimson.

The countess peeked around the doorframe and
she saw them, her rotund husband between Crimson’s legs as Crimson
tried to push him off and made silent squeals. His hand was over
her mouth and he whispered shush over and over. Crimson saw the
countess and fought even harder, punching Tor on the shoulders and
back.

Tor shifted position on his knees so that he
rested his full weight on the petite girl and kissed her forehead.
His breaths became labored as he continued to push into her and
take the brunt of her punches.

The countess brought her finger to her lips
and Crimson understood.

Tor never saw his wife come from behind with
the heavy porcelain vase raised over her head. He heard it, though,
only for a briefest of moments, as she swung it through the air and
its open mouth caught the wind like someone playing a reedless wind
instrument. It made a musical note of disaster and crashed into the
back of his skull.

Tor was instantly unconscious, his limp body
draped like a wet blanket over Crimson, who let out a scream and
struggled to push him off her. She sat up and slid across the floor
toward the back wall. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“Not sure,” the countess replied as she
pushed the shards of porcelain away with her feet and knelt beside
her husband. She pushed away the thick mat of hair on the top of
his skull. There was no blood, but a nice bump was already
developing. She watched his chest move up and down and could hear
his heavy shallow breathing. She stood, grabbed a towel and tossed
it over his naked body. “He’s fine. He may wish he were dead, but
he’s fine.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Crimson said as she
looked at Tor’s body.

“It never is. It never is,” the countess
repeated as she pivoted on her toes and left the room.

Moments later, two caretakers arrived. They
dumped a pitcher of cold water on Tor. He roused, sat up, and was
pissed off at everyone, especially those nearby—the caretakers and
Crimson. He rubbed the knot on the back of his head, studied the
broken shards of porcelain that lay around him, and spat in
Crimson’s direction. The spit landed near her feet. She moved away.
“You bitch,” he grumbled, “you hit me with a vase?”

“No, I didn’t,” Crimson defended as she stood
and sought shelter behind the larger caretaker.

“If you didn’t, then who did?”

The countess peeked around the threshold, “I
did, Tor.”

Tor looked at Crimson; his look was scornful
as if she had broken a secret between them. He managed to get to
his feet, wrapped the towel around his mid-section, and pushed past
everyone. The countess followed him, right on his heels, berating
him. They shouted at each other as they exited the bathing
room.

PART III

Relinquishment

Chapter I

~ The Baltic and Poseidon ~

Early the next
morning, Viktor and his men sat on horseback and gazed over the
cold waters of Stockholm harbor. They watched the masts of distant
warships bob on the horizon of the Baltic, their hulls scolded by
the sea’s irritating whitecaps; icy salt spray sprang into the air
and dripped from the sails onto the virgin timber of the
decks.

Viktor said, as he pointed to the ships among
the red glare of the sky that skipped across the water’s surface,
“We have to find a supply ship, one that’s heading toward Riga. I
suspect those ships, the ones to our left, are heading to the White
Sea.”

His men did not respond. From their vantage
point, they could see the effects of a nation at war and it
awestruck them. Even as early as it was, the harbor was active:
laborers, warriors, carts, horses, cargo and garrison’s of soldiers
were moved about and loaded onto ships moored in the wharf. Other
small watercraft, no doubt loaded with supplies, made their way
toward the deep-water ships. The safety of the harbor waned as they
watched small vessels appear, then cut deep into the Baltic to
disappear behind a wave, only to reappear seconds later. And past
everything, as far as the eye could see, lay the sweeping Baltic
backed by that foreboding red sky. The redness of the sky reminded
them of the blood that was being spilled on foreign shores, but
even with all that, they were in good spirits.

The story Viktor had told of his love for
Crimson made them understand the importance of this mission.
Princess Crimson had to be rescued—it was now a profound notion
that brought about valor, and it flowed through them. It changed
them from the lowly men they were before; no longer the grumblers
and doubters, now they were emboldened men with a mission and a
stir of adventure. Viktor didn’t know if they were willing to die
for the cause, but all three were bursting with a sense of purpose
and pride.

“Let’s move,” Viktor ordered.

They made their way into the heart of the
harbor, through a tangle of muddy streets, warehouses, and staging
areas until they arrived at the docks. There seemed to be no sense
of organization, no one was in charge, yet people and soldiers were
all busy, and somehow knew their duties. Viktor asked anyone who
stopped for a moment, which ship was heading toward Riga, and no
one seemed to know with any certainty. Others were downright rude
in their responses or ignored his questions all together. He found
an older citizen leaning on a container of tea. The old man watched
and took in everything from the cover of his bushy eyebrows. Viktor
rode up alongside him. “Sir, do you know which ship is heading
toward Riga?”

“I do and much more.”

“Well,” Viktor pressed, “which one?”

“Riga you say?”

Viktor shook his head yes in agitation. “Yes,
Riga. Which ship is heading toward Riga?”

“Ah, yes,” the old man said as he walked
around the collection of tea, patting the wooden crates of tea like
drums, “which indeed.”

The older soldier leaned toward Viktor. “Sir,
he want’s coinage for the information.”

Viktor nodded. “How much, old man?”

The question appeared to require a great deal
of thought on the old man’s part. He started to speak, then stop
himself before the words spilled out. Finally, he said, “a lovely
copper piece would help keep me warm this winter.”

“Sir, I am Viktor, with affairs of the king’s
court,” Viktor began before being cut short by the old man’s
response. “King’s court? Hmm … well then, I suspect three copper
pieces are lovelier still. Gives me something to rub together on
those chilly nights.”

The older soldier said aloud, “Viktor, you’re
wasting time haggling with this old man. We must move on.”

Viktor nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Three
coppers, then, old man. Which ship?”

“Only one today,” the man said with his palm
out and a grin across his face. “It’s that wide cargo galley at the
far end of the dock.”

“I’m in need of supplies, too,” Viktor said
before he handed over the copper.

“No supplies if you want to sail on that
vessel. It leaves soon and will not wait, even for those of the
king’s court.” The old man chortled and swiftly removed the copper
from Viktor’s palm. He examined and pocketed the coins. “You best
hurry, Sir Viktor. You and your men best hurry. Not another supply
ship for a week or two, and that one will not wait. The whole world
is in a rush to butcher each other and men in a hurry to make names
for themselves. Two types of storms in this world, Sir, the storms
of nature and the storms of men. I suspect you’re about to see
both.”

“Very well, old man, be about your business,”
Viktor said, turning his horse toward his men. “We shall get
supplies in Riga, then.” Viktor dug in and guided his horse toward
the end of the dock and his men followed. There were three ships at
the end of the dock and the pace of the men suggested that all
three were about to disembark.

“You,” Viktor ordered the younger soldier,
“check on the vessel at the far end. You, the other, I’ll take this
one. If either one is going to Riga, do not accept no as an answer.
We must leave today.”

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s that one,” the younger soldier
said, pointing at the ship at the very end of the dock. “I
recognize the pear-shaped hull and narrow main deck. That’s a cargo
ship if there ever was one.”

“I believe you’re right, let’s go,” Viktor
agreed.

Viktor boarded the ship and found the
loadmaster, a cutthroat dissident who was saltier than the sea. The
loadmaster constantly barked orders. He yelled and cursed at anyone
who crossed the vision of his one good eye, and now it stared
directly at Viktor. Viktor didn’t know how to approach him. He was
sure this crank wasn’t going to be impressed with any type of
prominence, quite the opposite he suspected. And the telling of a
love story would probably make the crusty shipman hurl.

Viktor dismounted, unrolled the decree from
the princess, and handed it to the loadmaster without saying a
word.

The loadmaster didn’t look at the document.
“Can’t read!”tThe loadmaster said as he pushed the document in
Viktor’s chest almost knocking him down. “State yur busness?”

“I need to board the ship for an
inspection.”

“Pess! Ain’t time for no e’spection, boy. We
at war, ya know.”

“Sir, I must board this ship. I have my
orders,” Viktor stated, pointing at the document.

“An’ I muss wipe my ass each mornin’. U goin’
ta hep me wit tat?”

“No.”

“T’en git oof my ship, boy!”

Viktor let out a phony sigh of displeasure
and shook his head in repulsion. He then leaned in and whispered,
“Oden, listen. If your ship passes inspection, and I can tell just
from a cursory view, it will—you’ll get twice pay.”

The old seaman whispered back, “T’wce pay,
you say?” He tugged at his beard. “Wy you call me Oden?”

“Sir, surely you know the Norse God, Oden,
the one who guides souls with one eye.”

“On’ eye, you say?”

“Yes, I read about Oden many times and I can
tell you, sir, you are the byword of him.” Viktor rolled up the
scroll and tossed it to the floor of the ship. “You, sir, are a god
or as close as one can be to one. There’s no need for me to inspect
this ship. I shall give my report without inspection, though it
pains me to not follow orders of the king.”

The loadmaster smiled, his flabby cheeks
reddened, and the thick flesh padlocked his good eye nearly closed.
“Guss no e’spection can’ urt.”

“You, sir, are a good man. It will be my
pleasure to sail with you.” Before the loadmaster had a chance to
change his mind, Viktor motioned for his men to bring the horses on
board. The loadmaster moved toward the belly of the ship, screaming
and cursing at the top of his lungs.

“Corral the horses below deck and keep out of
sight,” Viktor ordered his men. He then walked around the deck
pretending to be conducting official business. He’d stop seamen and
ask them to destination of this cargo, or that cargo, until he
heard the orders to cast off the lines. When the last line was
pulled on board, he knew they were on their way and slowly dropped
the ruse.

The Baltic seemed to swell and lift the ship
as its sails caught wind. The fresh cut timber of the hull moaned
against the arctic waters of the Baltic as it crept toward Riga.
Viktor made his way to the bow of the ship to greet the dawning of
Poseidon. He closed his eyes and prayed for the escorts of gods,
asked them to bless this Baltic crossing, and reminded them that
his only mission was to please them by saving a young princess. It
reminded him that his mission was noble.