| From Chapter 5:
Several
voices grew more intense, and after a few moments, the cabin boy’s
eyes widened as he realized what they were saying.
James
listened carefully as the gruff voices in the ship’s tiny galley
argued over the plans for the mutiny.
Of course, the apple barrel was far enough against the ship’s
curved interior wall that he didn’t have to worry about being
discovered; as long as none of these ruffians reached in for a snack,
he’d be basically invisible. And
that was a good thing.
“Arrrgh,
I says we take ‘em tonight,” one deep voice argued.
“Slit their throats whilst they sleep.”
There was a slicing, slurping nose, and James could picture in
his mind’s eye that particular Viking mimicking the deadly blade by
stretching his thumb across his throat.
“No,
now we’ve been over this a hundred times already,” a familiar voice
spoke, quiet but with total control.
“We stick to the plan. Don’t
you go getting’ anxious yet.”
“Who
says we gots to be takin’ orders from you, Longsword?” the first
voice sneered back.
James
could hear the audible, intimidating crackling of ten rock-solid
knuckles. Longsword!
How could he? The boy
silently clenched his fists in anger.
James didn’t want to believe it, but there was no mistaking his
voice, sticky-sweet and sincere to be true, but with an undertone of
rigid authority.
Crestfallen,
James thought about how much he liked the old cook, how much he’d
learned from him, and how he’d come to respect him.
And here he was, not only part of the mutiny but leading it!
“I
says, that’s who,” Longsword answered in a sinister whisper.
“Don’t you go forgettin’ who’s in charge here.
You’ll do as I say, or I’ll be usin’ you for fish bait.”
A
long pause stretched across the darkened cabin.
Then a little chuckle slipped from each of the Vikings gathered
there. Longsword continued,
keeping the upper hand. “And
don’t think I wont, either, because I’ve had just about enough of
this accursed fruit and cheese. And
the mead’s almost run dry. I
wan’ts some meat or fish.”
Suddenly,
the lid of James’ apple barrel lifted upward and a stream of dim light
entered along with a thick, muscular and hairy arm.
The fingers, fat as sausages, groped for an apple.
Silently, James pressed his body against the oak slats to keep
from being found.
With
the information he’d just heard, he was not only a threat to these
Viking mutineers; he just might become fish bait himself!
|
The
Longquist Adventures: Viking Treasure
Copyright 2009
Frank Holes Jr.
From Chapter 2:
There was not much room below
deck, though James later on found he could walk anyplace easily, unlike
the much bigger Vikings who had to constantly duck and crouch beneath
the overhead beams.
The exception below deck was the galley, the ship’s tiny kitchen,
which lay at the center of the longboat just forward of the main mast.
Being at the exact middle of the ship and thus able to drop its
floor right down onto the wide keel, the galley was a full two steps
lower than the hold. And it
was here that the cabin boy met his new master.
James peered up through the dim light at the ship’s cook.
There was obviously no candles or oil lamps below decks, and
electricity and batteries had yet to be invented in this world.
However, James found he could see pretty well from the two open
hatches on either end of the galley.
And in this dim light, he met the man who would ultimately change
this adventure’s course of events.
The Viking before him, for there was no mistaking the man’s
huge physical stature, nearly filled the entire galley.
The boy expected someone a little less imposing to be running the
galley, since the kitchen was in such tight quarters.
But this man was by far the largest Viking on the entire ship, at
least a head taller than the captain and broader around than Halvard.
This Viking’s chest and shoulders were nearly wide enough to scrape
the shelves along each wall, and his hips constantly pressed against the
sea barrels that were stacked at floor level and lashed tightly together
with thick rope.
Wild tufts of the cook’s deep reddish-brown beard were tied off in
little pig-tails in a number of places along the man’s monstrous, hard
jaw line.
He wore a black, fleece vest that accentuated the rippling muscles up
and down his hairy arms. His
hands were the size of catcher’s mitts.
But what was the most striking aspect of the cook’s appearance was
what was missing. As Jim’s
gaze descended from the ceiling where the man’s bushy red hair easily
brushed the cobwebs along the overhead beams, the boy’s eyes widened
in shock.
The cook was missing one leg!
Well, that was a matter of opinion.
The left leg was there in all of its muscular glory, bulging
beneath the cook’s dark tan woolen trousers.
That let was definitely one that belonged to a Viking.
However, down the right leg, the tightly-woven pants ended
halfway between the waist and what should have been a kneecap.
Jim’s mouth went instantly dry. He
tried to swallow, but the scraping at the back of his throat wouldn’t
allow it.
Instead of a human leg extending from the
cut off pants, a dull, ivory colored, cone-shaped appendage served to
keep the cook upright and moving.
James at first thought it might be a wooden limb, like those the pirates
wore in the old Saturday afternoon cable-TV movies.
But as he stared closer, he realized it was not wooden.
It was made of bone!
The peg-leg, the only name James could think of to describe it, was
scarred and dented, and all along its length, tiny stained riverbeds
spider-webbed their way to the floor.
Only then did James realize he’d been staring at this powerful man for
a number of seconds in what could only be a most disrespectful manner.
Quickly, he blinked and then turned his head away, trying to find
a crack in the ship’s side boards that he might crawl into.
Without blinking, the huge cook glared down at the cabin boy and then
raised one side of his lips in a near sneer.
“Arrgh, lost it in the service of the king, so I did, lad.”
James, ever the polite child, returned his eyes to meet those of his
master.
But instead of the good beating he’d expected, the sea cook let loose
a hearty bellow of laughter.
“It’s whale-bone, lad,” the cook chuckled.
“Carved it myself from the belly of a great beast we slew not
even ten year ago.”
Longsword slapped the bone leg with his meaty right paw of a hand.
“It’s been through better days, I must admit, and I can’t
ever seem to get it sparkly clean, don’t ya know.”
James’ question was out before he could stop himself.
Only immediately afterward did he wish he’d just kept quiet.
“Isn’t that a bit, you know, awkward to get around on?”
The cook paused for a moment before answering.
“The only time it slows me down is on quick sprints along rough
country. But as you can
see,” Longsword spun a tight circle pivoting upon the bone’s pointed
end, a move James would have thought impossible if he hadn’t actually
witnessed it, “in close quarters, it suits me just fine.”
It was obvious that the cook was just as nimble as his shipmates.
And if the artificial leg bothered him, he didn’t show it.
James also wondered how he lost the leg, but he was sensible
enough not to ask.
“And I make a fine dancin’ partner for the ladies, so I do.”
And as he raised his bushy red eyebrows up and down, he roared in
laughter again, though this time James wasn’t too sure he liked the
underlying tone. It seemed
to suggest something darker and more sinister beneath the man’s
otherwise jovial countenance.
“You’re a right fine
salt, you are boy,” the Viking said.
“So, what do they call you, my lad?”
His voice barely a squeak, James did his best to look the big man in the
eye despite his fear. “James,
sir.”
“Jamesur, huh? What is
that, Anglo-Saxon?
Norman
? Can’t be a Britton,
there’s no way you’d get yerself to
Sweden
. A bit unusual a name.
‘Course, yer a bit scrawny for a Norseman.”
“No, no, sir. It’s just
James.”
“Oh, you were being polite.” The Viking said.
“Good lad. Good
manners isn’t practiced so much on the seas as it should be.
And no excuse for that, let me tell you.”
James could only nod carefully. He
still wasn’t sure how to take this big cook.
“But, forgive me,” the Viking said politely holding out his huge
hand. “Manners and all. My
name’s Jon Longsword.”
Nervously, James reached his
right hand forward expecting to shake hands, just as his father had
taught him years ago. He
hoped his fingers wouldn’t be crushed, either accidentally or on
purpose. But the boy was
completely surprised when Viking clutched his entire arm.
It was a full forearm shake!
Longsword’s fingers wrapped completely around James’s elbow.
James attempted to return the gesture, but his small fingers
barely covered a quarter of the big man’s arm.
Longsword gave the boy a
gentle shake, pumping their arms up and down twice and saying, “It’s
good to meet ya James. Welcome
aboard the Sonskir.”
|
From
Chapter 4:
Old
Torgeir stared out to the rough seas with his one good eye.
Even with only one good eye to look out of, he normally acted as
the ship’s lookout, able to see much farther than his other shipmates.
He didn’t make a sound, nay did he even breathe for a long
time.
Just
then, the sea around the two ships began to boil.
Huge bubbles broke their way to the surface, and sea water
sprayed two dozen or more feet into the air.
Having seen film footage of Yellowstone’s
Old Faithful
, James’ first thought was that they’d sailed over top of a geyser.
But it was to prove much more dangerous.
The
great Viking vessel suddenly lurched hard to the right, the prow of the
ship plunging nearly under the icy sea.
The crew grasped any handhold in sight and then cringed as a wall
of water blasted over the deck. The
Draugr, just a dozen yards
away, twisted hard to the side, and audible cracking sound emitting from
its midsection.
Luckily,
James was right next to the mast. His
small right hand looped around the rope that dangled down from the beam
above.
A
shout and several curses issued immediately from the galley, as many
gallons of water poured down the hatchway.
Not a second or two later, Jon Longsword poked his head out of
the ship’s central hold. “What
in blazes is goin on up here?” he cried angrily.
“Where’s the helmsman, steering us into such chaos?
I’ll stripe him myself for a …
But
the old cook’s tirade was cut short as he glanced over toward the
smaller ship. James followed
his glance and watched as the Draugr,
now broken into several pieces was quickly sinking below the bubbling
water. Viking sailors were
swimming madly for the Sonskir.
“Thor’s
thunder!” said Longsword, obviously in awe.
“It’s a Kraken!”
“A
what?” asked James, incredulously.
But he didn’t have long to ponder.
Suddenly
Longsword hollered at the boy fiercely.
“Get down lad!”
Without
thinking, James dropped to his knees.
He just barely slipped below the slimy tentacle that whipped its
way across the Sonskir’s deck. As he
rolled over onto his back, James, now wide-eyed in terror, watched the
tentacle wrap itself twice around the mast.
The
tentacle was a greenish-brown color on top.
The underside was a sour gray color, distinguished by rows of
suckers, each the size of cereal bowls.
The jagged edge of each sucker was lined with small teeth-like
protrusions. From only a few
feet below, James could hear the grinding of the serrated edges of the
suckers, most now engaged in adhering the tentacle to the mast.
By
this time, the entire crew was on deck.
But a moment later, they all hit the planking as the ship lurched
again, this time from the tentacle pulling upon the mast.
Weapons
appeared in the Vikings’ hands as more and more tentacles snaked their
way up on deck. The sailors
swung their swords and axes, defeating the smaller tentacles and sending
them back slithering to the watery depths.
But two larger tentacles were causing far more havoc.
One
large tentacle was still prying on the main mast.
With each tug, the Sonskir
again lurched to the side. The
other large tentacle was knocking the Vikings off into the sea.
|
