Viking Gold (15 page)

“You came back!”

“Yes … but I could do with
help here …”

Toki had fallen to his knees
but he was still fighting, lashing out with his fists every time Olvir got
close. Redknee shot between them, bringing his oar sharp across the giant’s
face. This time Toki collapsed flat onto the deck, blood trickling from the
corner of his mouth, the fight smashed out of him.

Redknee turned to Sinead.
“Quick, bring some rope.”

They bound Toki’s hands and
feet then tied him to the mast. His head slumped onto his chest, saliva
dripping down his chin.

“Is he breathing?” she asked,
pressing her hand against his forehead.

“Why’d you care?” Redknee
asked.

“It’s just … he looked after
me.”

In answer, Toki groaned and
coughed up yellow bile.

“You’re capable of looking
after yourself,” Redknee said, going back to get his oar. He turned the length
of ash in his hand and slid it through the oarport. “You said Olvir ran away.”

Sinead flushed scarlet. “I
thought he had.”

“No way!” Olvir grinned. “Led
this oaf and his friend on a merry dance, didn’t I? Said I knew my way round
this island like the back of my hand. Well, I got them to follow the sheep,
just like you wanted. Fools were so intent on filling their bellies they didn’t
notice the ravine. This one here was lucky – he managed to land on a small
ledge. But the one with the shiny mail coat went flying right over the side.
Probably gull food now.”

“Mord is dead?” Sinead asked.

“Don’t know,” Olvir said.
“But he won’t be bothering us for a while, that’s for certain.”

“I knew you could do it,”
Redknee said, slapping Olvir on the back. Silently, he wondered what he’d
unleashed in the boy.

Their
captive remained unconscious while they sailed back to Ivar’s farm.

“What shall we do with him?”
Sinead asked as they neared the entrance to the bay, Ivar’s farm almost in sight.

Redknee shrugged.

“Sven won’t kill him … will
he?” She looked at the big lump slouched against the mast and bit her lip. “I
mean …” she said, smoothing her face into a mask of indifference, “it’ll just
cause reprisals.”

“By Thor’s hammer, why should
you give a goat what happens to that outsized ogre?” Redknee asked, trimming
the sail to catch the shifting wind. “You’d do better to concern yourself with
your own position.”

“It’s just …” her voice
trailed off as a movement on the cliffs grabbed her attention. “Look,” she
said, pointing, “someone’s waving at us.”

Redknee squinted into the
distance. Harold was running towards them, leaping around like a frog on hot
coals, arms flailing wildly in the air.

“What’s he doing?” Olvir
shouted from his position as lookout up on the prow.

“Damned if I know,” Redknee
said warily. “But I’m in no mood for his stupid tricks.” He decided to ignore
Harold’s flailing, focusing instead on steering a true course. Hopefully Harold
would get the message.

“He looks desperate,” Sinead
said. “Like he wants to warn us.” She stood on the rail and waved to him.

“—What are you doing?”
Redknee said, grabbing her flapping skirts and hauling her onto the deck. “Are
you crazy?” he demanded. “You could’ve fallen … do you want to get yourself
killed?”

She laughed in his face, a
hollow, hysterical hack. “You didn’t seem to care when you threatened to drop
me over the side.”

Heat flooded his cheeks. “We
were inshore—”

She
shoved past him, lurched for the tiller, jamming it hard and sending the ship
careering towards the rocks.

“You’ll ground us!” he said,
pushing her out the way as the ironclad keel scraped noisily over a granite
outcrop. Then he swung them out to sea so violently the ship tilted onto its
side, sending loose barrels flying about the deck before he was able to steady
their course. 

“How dare you manhandle me
like that!” Sinead said. “You don’t know it’s a trick. So you want to show your
uncle how grown up you are – you’ve done well, stealing this ship. But unless
you listen to others, you’ll put us all in danger.”

Anger boiled in his veins. He
wasn’t going to let Harold spoil his success. Wouldn’t give the little turd the
chance, no matter what Sinead said, or how much she riled him. For once the
glory was all his, and he was going to take it … giving Olvir his due, of
course.

“Hey, you two,” Olvir said.
“Stop bickering. You’re like an old married couple.” He motioned to Harold. “This
lunatic, is he a friend of yours? Because he really wants us to go over. What’s
the worst that can happen? There’s three of us and only one of him.”

Redknee sighed. He didn’t
like to admit it, but Olvir’s logic made some sense. Feeling outnumbered, he
took hold of the tiller and reluctantly steered them as close to the rocks as
he dared.

Harold shimmied down the
cliffs until he was almost at sea level, cupped his hands over his mouth and
yelled into the wind.

“Sail to the next bay. Don’t
go to the farm.”

“Why?” Sinead called back.

“Ragnar is there!”

Sinead turned to Redknee, a
look of
“I told you so”
on her face.

“He’s lying.” Redknee tried
to sound unconcerned.

Olvir strained to see past
the headland and into the bay.

“What’s happened?” he asked,
“while I’ve been playing at raiders with you?”

“Nothing’s happened,” Redknee
said, ignoring Harold’s warning and setting them on course for the farm. “I’ll
bet he wants us to take the black ship to a quiet bay so he can wrestle her
from us and claim this success as his.”

They slid round the headland
and for the first time the full sweep of the bay came into sight. Olvir gave a
cry of horror. In the distance, flames ripped into the sky where Ivar’s farm
had stood.

Redknee
ignored Harold’s warning and set the black ship on course for the farm. It must
not be a repeat of Ragnar’s attack on his village. So much death. It couldn’t
happen twice. He wouldn’t let it. He’d save those now where he’d been unable to
before.
And he’d left Silver in there
.

As they reached the beach, he
leapt from the ship, wrapped his cloak round his face and charged across the
sand towards the burning longhouse. There was no sign of Ragnar or any of his
men.
Was he too late?
As flames licked the pale, summer dawn, memories
of charred, blackened skin flashed through his mind. He nearly retched.
It
was happening again.
Smoke clawed at his throat, he held his breath, afraid
of finding the terrible, terrible smell of roasting flesh. 

Sinead grabbed his arm. “What
are you doing?”

“Seeing if anyone is inside.”

“You’ll be killed,” she said.

“
By the Blessed Virgin, I
didn’t mean it.”

Redknee turned to see the
little monk they’d met the night before. He knelt on the ground; hands clasped
together, eyes shut. His lips moved quickly, silently, as if chewing something
distasteful, like a bee.

“What’s he doing?” Redknee
asked.

“Praying,” Sinead said. She
went over and put her hand on his shoulder. His robes were singed with ash. “Is
anyone inside?” she asked.

Brother Alfred’s eyes flew
open. “Oh praise be! You have come for me. It was an accident. I—”

“Is anyone inside?” Redknee
said, stopping the monk mid rant.

The little monk shook his
head.

“What about a wolf cub?”

The monk looked blank.

Redknee
stared at the burning longhouse. The turf roof had collapsed and angry, red
flames escaped from between the rafters. He sank to his knees and closed his
eyes.

“I shut him in,” he said, “he
wanted to come with me and I shut him in.” He felt Sinead place a hand on his
shoulder, but he received no comfort from it.

“Who did you shut in,” she
asked, nudging his cheek.

He turned to face her, to
explain how he’d left his pup to die, and was greeted by a paid of amber eyes.
“Silver!” he cried, bundling the pup into his arms, “I thought you were dead.”

He glanced up at Sinead, who
was standing a little way off, a smile tugging on her lips. “Why didn’t you
tell me?”

She shrugged.

Then he remembered his
uncle’s order. He turned back to the little monk. “What about the book?” he asked.
“Did you get that out?”

Brother Alfred shook his
head. “It all happened so quickly. I didn’t think.”

Redknee sighed. “Uncle Sven
charged me with the
Codex’s
safekeeping,” he said to Sinead. “Is it true
what you said earlier – about it having a connection to my father?”

“That’s what Ragnar said.”

“What, Sinead? You have to
tell me
exactly
what he said.”

“He said it belonged to your
father – well, that your father stole it from an Irish monastery.”

“
What?”
Redknee’s mind
spun out of control. “Sven said
he
was given it by a merchant in
Kaupangen just last month.”

Sinead shrugged. “I’m only
telling you what Ragnar said.”

Redknee started towards the
longhouse.

“Where are you going?” she
called after him.

“If what you say is true,
I’ve no time to waste.”

The chest where Sven stowed
the book had been against the back wall of the longhouse. Rather than fight
through the inferno, Redknee skirted the flames, making his way round the
outside to the rear of the building. The fire was even more intense here, its roar
deafening. But he spotted a gap in the timbers, covered his mouth and slid
through.

Heat seared his skin.He saw
the chest; the pale oak blackened under the caress of the flames, but otherwise
undamaged. He tried the lid. It didn’t budge. Damn. He cast around for
something to break the lock.

He saw, not too far away, an
iron-headed hammer wedged beneath fallen rafters.
Perfect.
But as he
scurried across the room to reach it, the last remaining rafters crashed down.
He raised his arms to protect his head as he was pummelled to the floor in a
cloud of smoke and dust. Everything hurt.

He tried to move. Found he
couldn’t. Something, a rafter maybe, had fallen on his leg, trapping him
amongst the blackened debris. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t die here trying
to save a damn book. By Thor’s hammer, he only had Sinead’s word it had
any
connection to his father. No, he had to go on.

He couldn’t quite reach the
hammer from where the timber pinned him to the floor. Summoning all his
strength, he tried to tug his leg free. The effort moved him a couple of inches
closer to the hammer, maybe less.
Was it enough?
He lay flat on the
floor and stretched his arms out until his joints clicked. His fingertips
brushed the end of the hammer.
Just.
He closed his eyes. Another inch
was all he needed. Gathering the last of his energy, he yanked his trapped leg
again. This time it didn’t budge. Not an inch. Nothing. By Odin’s eye, he
was
going to die here.

He saw a white hand with neat
fingernails reach down for him. It must be Freya, he thought. Come to take him
to
Valhalla
. But she didn’t touch him, instead she picked up the hammer. It was
then he realised it wasn’t Freya, but Sinead, come to help him.

“Hurry up,” she said, handing
him the hammer. “This place will collapse any moment.” She helped lift the
timber from his leg, which was cut but not broken, then they hastened to the
chest.

The rusty old lock came away
easily using the hammer. Redknee quickly opened the lid and reached inside for
the book. But the chest was empty save for a yellowed piece of linen.

He turned to Sinead. “Where
is it?”

“How should I know? Come on,”
she said, pulling on his tunic, “we have to go.”

He looked frantically about
the remains of the longhouse.

“But it must be here. I’ve
got
to find it … I promised my uncle …”

“It’s gone, and we should go
too.” Sinead grabbed his arm and began dragging him towards the opening they
had come through. They ran outside as the building collapsed behind them.

Brother Alfred had been
joined on the beach by a pink-faced and breathless Harold.

“What happened?” Sinead asked
Brother Alfred.

“You spilled your oils,”
Harold said sharply to the little monk. “Didn’t you?”

Brother Alfred nodded slowly.
“Yes,” he said. “I … I was sending prayers to the … the Blessed Virgin and
knocked over my incense burner. In the name of all the Saints, I … I truly
didn’t mean to do it …”

“So it wasn’t Ragnar?”
Redknee asked.