The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (20 page)

“And I still have my peacemaker,” I say, hefting up the Mark 14 grenade launcher. “Just three rounds left, though.”

Jakob doesn’t look happy. “That’s it?”

We’ve got enough guns and ammo to form a small militia, but it’s not enough. Not even close. We could be facing three thousand killers, and even if our aim is perfect, we only have enough to take out a few hundred. Not that guns are the only way to handle
Draugar. “Any swords on board? A machete for hacking up whales? Maybe a fire ax?”

Jakob looks up at Willem and gives a nod.

Willem exits without a word.
Vikings and their nods
, I think. These guys are the embodiment of the strong, silent type. I sometimes wonder why the duo has taken such a shine to me, given my tendency to run off at the mouth. Must be my charming personality.

Willem returns holding a wrapped-up wool blanket. He lays it down on the clear portion of table, and I hear the clang of metal from within. The sound triggers an almost Pavlovian response. I lean forward in anticipation.

When Willem pulls the blanket away, he reveals a collection of assorted bladed weapons. Three swords, one double-headed ax, and two hatchets. Helena steps into the room, her eyes like those of a dog that’s just been called to dinner.
Hello, fellow Pavlovian
, I think. She looks over the weapons for just a moment before reaching down and taking both hatchets. She leaves with the weapons as fast as she arrived.

I guess the Greenlandic method for calling dibs is to just take what you want before anyone else, a theory that’s confirmed when Willem snags the double-bladed ax—which makes him look more what he is: the much less decayed, still living, descendant of Torstein. Talbot and Jakob are quick to grab the larger of the three swords, leaving a pitiful-looking weapon lying on the table.

The two-foot blade is old and rusted, more likely to cause tetanus than a mortal wound. No doubt drawn by the sound of clanging weapons, Klein enters the room. He looks down at the last sword.

“I’d offer to arm wrestle you for it, but I’m fairly certain you would win,” he says.

“Thanks, but you can have it,” I say. “I think I’d rather use my knife.”

A sheathed sword slides into view, clutched in Jakob’s hand. The curved shape of the black lacquered hardwood scabbard, ornate guard, and finely wrapped hilt identify the weapon as a
katana
—a Japanese samurai sword. Jakob’s free hand takes the hilt and pulls, revealing a gleaming, brand-new, razor-sharp blade. But the fierce-looking metal isn’t what captures my attention, it’s the engraved raven at the bottom of the blade. I recognize the symbol immediately as the Olavson family crest, which is tattooed on Jakob’s and Willem’s arms. Torstein’s, too. Jakob didn’t just buy this sword for me, he had it
made
for me.

Before I can thank him or ask why he had a Japanese sword, rather than something in a Norse design, made for me, he places the weapon in my hand and I understand. The blade is light. Really light. I might have a hard time swinging the bulky blades that Jakob and Talbot scooped up, but this…this is going to sing through the air.

My grin is impossible to hide. “Jakob…”

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, but then feel silly for gushing. “Let me guess, you named it Raven? Seems to be about the limit of your ability to name things.”

He scoffs and waves a hand at me. “Vikings do
not
name swords.”

With a smile, I untie the cord and slip it over my head and shoulder. After I’ve cinched it tight, the weapon hangs comfortably from my back. I reach back and take hold of the hilt. Easy to reach. I don’t bother drawing it out. I’ve held swords before. My father even taught me the basics of using one. But I’m far from a samurai. Getting the weapon back into the scabbard won’t be easy, and I
don’t feel like embarrassing myself. Odds are, if I have to take it out, I’ll need it out for a while.

“Hey,” Helena says from the bridge. “Hey! I think I can see it.”

The crew filters into the bridge, heading for the front windows. The speck in the distance isn’t hard to make out—it’s the only thing that isn’t blue. The object appears small, but three miles of perspective can do that. That we can see it at all from this distance tells me the thing is huge. Jakob looks through a pair of binoculars. I can see him frown even through the cloak of his gray beard. He passes the binoculars to me.

It’s still too far to make out details like people, or serial numbers, but there is no doubt that Jakob hit the nail on the head. The cruise ship sits at the core of a large flotilla. They appear to be bound together somehow, forming some kind of megaship, with the largest vessels framing the cruise liner and the smaller ones lining the outside edge.

I scan the boats, looking for the green-hulled
Arctic Rainbow
. I find it near the front outer edge. It’s a fairly large ship, added to the front of the pack. Something about the ship catches my attention. It’s bobbing up and down. I focus on the
Arctic Rainbow
’s green hull and see a splash of white at the bow. Then another.

“Holy shit…”

I look at the other ships and find the same telltale flare of white surf.

“What is it?” Willem asks.

I lower the binoculars. “It’s moving.” I look at the sky, note the position of the sun, and then take the island-ship’s direction. “Toward Greenland.”

F
or fifteen minutes we watch the distant shape resolve into a megalithic merger of ships. It’s a mix of private and commercial vessels, new and old, wooden, metal, and fiberglass, all connected by a web of cables, thick ropes, and anchor chains. The Draugar seem to have no preference for color, size, or style of ship. Even crew size appears to be a nonissue; some of the smaller fishing boats couldn’t have had more than four crew. The end result is nothing short of monstrous. It’s a floating city, and it absolutely dwarfs us. We’re still five minutes from reaching the outer fringe, but the ships fill our view and even blot out the lowering sun.

We’re going to be here overnight
, I realize. The idea of facing Draugar is bad enough. Facing them in the dark is absolutely horrifying. Still, there’s at least an hour of light left in the day. Maybe that will be enough.

Right. We’re going to sink two thousand feet of ships in a single hour.
We’d have an easier time getting the old gals at Saint Mary’s Convent to have a wet T-shirt contest.

I pick up a pair of binoculars and take a fresh look. But everything’s the same as it was fifteen minutes ago—a collection of ships, moving in unison, with not a soul in sight.

“Nobody’s home,” Klein says, lowering his own pair of binoculars. “Maybe they set it on a collision course and let it go?”

“Don’t call her a cowgirl till you’ve seen her ride,” Talbot says, twirling his mustache.

“What?” Klein asks.

“I think he’s trying to say that looks can be deceiving,” I say, pointing to the cruise ship. “Main deck. Starboard beam.”

The figure—a woman I think, given the height and bulk around the hips—hasn’t moved since I saw her. She might have been there the whole time or just arrived. But she’s new to me.

“I see her,” Klein says. “What’s she doing?”

“Watching us,” Jakob says.

“Like Nate,” I add. “Evaluating us. They must know Nate is dead, but they might not know how many weapons we have. So the question is, do we take them by surprise or try to intimidate?”

“Intimidation worked for our ancestors,” Willem says.

I remember Jakob’s story about how the Norse raiders approached from the sea in ships made to look like dragons, banging drums and shouting war cries. Their enemies could hear and see them coming from a mile off. And often by the time they arrived at the village or monastery they were raiding, no one remained to put up a fight. Muninn and Torstein had used the same tactic on the island, and it had nearly worked. If Jakob, a fellow Norsemen, hadn’t revealed the purpose behind their intimidation, I might have lacked the resolve to see things through.

“But these aren’t monks,” I say. “They’re Draugar. I’m not sure we can intimidate them.”

“Their hosts may not know fear,” Jakob says, “but the parasites, as a collection, do. Remember how they shied away from the caves where they’d been entombed? And they fear you, the Raven who killed their Queen.”

“One of three,” I say.

“And if another resides on this ship?” he asks.

I don’t answer, mostly because he might be right. I don’t like the idea of the Draugar seeing me as a specific threat. I’d rather be a nobody—a nameless grunt—than the person who squished the Queen. If these things hold a grudge the way people do, then bringing us out here might be all about taking vengeance on me. And if that’s true, every life lost is on my shoulders.

“If we hide our defenses, we might lure them in,” Klein says. “Draw out the Queen.”

“They’re too smart,” Talbot says. “They’ve been one step ahead of us, and quite frankly, I’m sick of taking a lickin’. I’m ’bout ready to dish one out.”

“Captain?” I say to Jakob. “It’s your call.”

He looks me in the eyes. “You already know, Jane.”

“Right. Viking assault it is.” It’s the right call, not because we’ll intimidate the Draugar, but because it’s so bold they’ll never see it coming. Maybe. “What’s our goal?”

“Sink the cruise ship,” Willem says.

“Kill the Queen,” Jakob adds.

“Hopefully both at the same time,” I say. “And if we can, find out what the host is. That’s not asking too much, right?”

“We could simplify it for you if it would help,” Willem says, then grins. “Something like, fuck their shit up.”

Willem manages to get a chuckle out of everyone, even Helena, who has remained silent.

“Humor in the face of certain death,” I say. “What could be more Viking than that?” I glance out the window and see that we’re just a minute or two out from the front edge of the ship-island. Time to get serious. “Klein, how fast are they moving?”

“Couple knots, tops,” he replies.

“Can we move sideways safely at that speed?” I ask.

“Of course,” Jakob says. “What are you thinking?”

I quickly detail my plan, which involves some skill, a fair amount of luck, and a shit-yourself big explosion, to the group, and despite the high level of risk involved, everyone is on board. After loading up on weapons and ammo, we conceal most of it under winter gear and head for the forward deck—everyone except Jakob, that is. He’s at the wheel.

As we near the moving island, the whales transporting the
Raven
start turning the ship to port so that the starboard side of the ship will rest against the outer edge of the bound ships. I have no doubt they will then try to add the
Raven
to their collection. But the real problem is that if a wave of Draugar try to board the ship, we’ll have a hard time defending the entire port side.

I stand at the front of the ship, watching our approach and slow turn. I’m wearing my cloak again, which sort of disgusts me after Nate wore it, but it helps obscure the sword—only the hilt can be seen, poking out of the cloak by my head. I have two handguns tucked into my belt behind my back and three spare magazines in my pockets, along with my Taser and knife.

Despite all being armed, we brandish no weapons, and have most hidden. The goal is to show no fear but keep our actual capabilities, or lack thereof, a secret. I’m sure more than a few of us would like to fly to Africa, find a nice patch of sand, dig a hole, and put our heads in it, but we manage to put on a respectable tough guy act. ’Course, it’s not too hard when Willem, Helena, and Talbot are the real deal. Klein looks a little unsure of himself, which is understandable given that his toughest sparring partner is the occasional paper jam. And me? I’m not exactly a wuss, but I’m pretty frikken terrified right now. This is a fight I had hoped to never repeat.

I look out over the rail, judging our distance, speed, and rate of turn.
Close enough
, I think. I push a button on the radio I’m carrying. “Okay, Jakob, hard to starboard. Do it now!”

The ship begins to shift immediately as Jakob spins the wheel like a madman. The whales fouled the prop, but not the rudder. There’s a thud as the heavy ship bumps into one of the whales below, but we’re suddenly straight again.

“Hold on!” Willem shouts.

I grip the forward harpoon gun as we T-bone the ship-island. The first of the vessels we strike, a medium-size fishing boat, is split in two by the
Raven
’s ice-breaking double hull. But it manages to slow us down before we hit the two larger vessels beyond the first. With a shriek of metal, the
Raven
wedges between two slightly smaller industrial fishing ships.

When we come to a stop, I peek over the rail.
Perfect.
The decks of the fishing ships are six feet below the front deck of the
Raven
. Not only have we created an easily defensible bottleneck, but any Draugar attempting to board will have to overcome the six-foot climb first.

I’ve chosen Helena and Klein to stay behind. Helena is staying because she’s still holding her ribs, which I suspect are broken. I might have a chunk missing from my leg, but it just hurts. Broken ribs can make moving in general tough but can also make it hard to breathe. Klein is staying because, well, he’s a desk jockey, and we’re going to be doing a lot of moving. Even old man Jakob is in better shape. But they may yet have the hardest job. If the Draugar take the ship, we’re screwed. So they’re probably going to have their hands full.

Jakob runs onto the main deck. He’s got a shotgun in his hands, a spare gun in his pocket, and a sword hanging from his belt. The ship’s keys jangle in his hand before he shoves them in his pocket. If we don’t make it back, the
Raven
will become a permanent part of the flotilla.

“No horned helmet?” I ask with a mock frown.

Before he can reply, a booming voice echoes over the ocean. “
Hello
and
welcome
to the
Poseidon Adventure
!”

The hell?
The woman is speaking through a megaphone with the exaggerated excitement of a grown-up Dora the Explorer.