Page 27 of The Last Viking

She ignored his sarcasm and helped unbuckle his seat belt. Grinning mysteriously, she told him to follow her. Which wasn’t easy to do since he couldn’t figure out how to open the bloody door of the bloody box.

They began to walk toward the shipping mall structure when Geirolf stopped suddenly and exclaimed, “By the Holy Rood! Of all the things I have seen in this outlandish country, that is the most outlandish of all.”

“What?” Merry-Death craned her neck this way and that, unable to locate the source of his incredulity.

“There,” he said, pointing to an elderly woman walking with a pig on a leash. It was the ugliest pig he’d ever seen in all his born days, with a belly that drooped almost to the ground. “Is the wench taking yon hog to market?”

Merry-Death laughed. “No, that’s a pot-bellied pig. It’s a pet.”

“A pet?” he sputtered. “Like a kitten?”

“Uh-hum. Isn’t it darling?”

“Have you suffered a head blow of late?”

Moments later, they entered the glass doors of the shipping mall, and Geirolf jerked back with surprise. Every person in this world must have assembled here, and they all chattered and shrieked with good humor as they briskly walked along—singly, in pairs, and in threatening groups.

He wished he had Brave Friend with him. He felt defenseless without his sword at hand. But Merry-Death didn’t appear frightened, so he trailed after her.

First, Merry-Death said she had to get some money from an aye-team machine. She inserted a square of some strange material called plays-tick into a slot, and Geirolf scoffed when he saw what came out of the wall. It was mere parchment, not coins.

She explained that, while coins existed in her country, paper, another word for parchment, counted as trading tender, as well. He accepted her pronouncement dubiously, but another distressing thought occurred to him. “I have no money with me. How will I buy clothing and all the items I’ll need whilst in your land?”

“You don’t have to worry—”

“I know,” he said with sudden enlightenment, pulling off one of his armlets. “I can sell this for coin, can I not?”

“You could sell it, yes, but—”

“Why do you hesitate? Is it worth naught here? In my world, jewelry is a portable commodity, to be bartered or cut into pieces for money.”

“Rolf, you could probably buy a small country with the money you’d get for such a priceless object. It’s just that it’s not necessary. There’s a salary that goes with the position of head shipbuilder for the Trondheim project. Not a large one, but sufficient for your needs. I’ll give you an advance.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you sure? I have always paid my own way. And, for a certainty, I’ve ne’er let a woman care for my needs. I would not accept charity from you.”

“Save your pride, Rolf. I’ll let you know when your tab gets too high.”

“Well, then, we are agreed,” he said, slipping the armlet back on. Then, he turned with her to advance warily into the deep bowels of the shipping mall. But, he vowed, the first purchase he was going to make was a sword.

He saw several couples walk by—obviously lovers—with their hands entwined. So, he reached over and took Merry-Death’s hand in his, lacing their fingers. He liked the way her pulse beat against his at the wrist.

And she obviously did, too, because she glanced up at him with surprise, but did not pull away. And the slight coloring of her cheeks betrayed how his touch affected her.

Good! He wanted to affect her. And a lot more.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Look at that. Isn’t he adorable?” Meredith squealed and began to tug him in another direction.

“Wh-what?” he stammered, unable to discern the object of her ardor. All he saw was glass-fronted market stalls and an overabundance of people.

“It’s a Great Dane. Oh, I always wanted to have a Great Dane.”

“Would a great Norseman suffice?”

She started to choke with laughter at his words, and he slapped her on the back.

“Well, there is naught a Dane can do that a Norwegian can’t do better,” he said huffily. “And, frankly, I do not appreciate your raving on about other men in my presence.”

“Rolf, a Great Dane is the name of a dog breed.” She dabbed at her brimming eyes with a paper handkerchief, then indicated with a wave of her hand the forlorn puppy that sat in front of the glass window, yipping and yapping. It was probably laughing at him, too.