Page 17 of The Very Virile Viking

One lady, apparently aghast at his treatment of his son, chastised him. "Is it necessary to be so violent with that child? He's only a little boy."

Hamr cast her a sweet smile.

"Perhaps you need some anger management classes."

"Perhaps you need to mind your own business, you old biddy."

"What is that putrid smell?" she said, then looked at Lida. "When was the last time you changed her Pampers?"

"When did I last pamper her? Blód hel , I pamper her way too much, if truth be told."

"I think she's referring to her diapers," Dare-All explained, still smiling.

"And what, pray tell, is a die-purr?"

"The cloth you put on the baby's ass to catch the piss and shit," Dare-All practically shouted, finally becoming exasperated with him.

"Well, why did you not say nappy to begin with?" he told the woman, who was slack-jawed with amazement. "I used the last one yesterday."

The woman gasped some more. "Oh… oh… oh! Is that boy limping? Did you hit him… or kick him…

or something?"

Magnus glanced at Jogeir, who was blushing profusely at being singled out in such a way because of a handicap he chose to ignore. If this woman were a man, Magnus would call him out for such an insult. He would never kick a child. Never.

"Someone ought to call Child Protective Services."

Really, he had had enough for one day… in fact, for one year… and what he did not need was a meddling crone telling him what to do. On the other hand… hmmm… "Are you interested in employment, my good woman?"

"Em… em… employment?" she sputtered out. "As what?"

"A nurse maid for my nine children, that's what."

" Nine? I'll have you know, I'm a noted chef in one of the city's most exclusive restaurants. I'm just touring the studio."

Magnus hadn't a clue what she'd just said.

"I think a chef is a kind of cook… for royalty and such," Kirsten explained to him. His daughter fancied that she was an authority on the lifestyles of the royal families of not just Norway, but England and Frankland, as well. Probably hoped to wed some prince, or at least a lower level atheling.

"Well, I would not mind a nurse maid who could cook a fair meal, too," Magnus told the woman.

"You have some nerve," the woman said, and stormed away. That was what women did whenever they knew they had lost an argument with a far more intelligent man. He had made her a perfectly reasonable offer, after all.

"Step away, everyone. Go back to work," Dare-All ordered, and surprisingly people began to obey him. He must be a chieftain here, after all, though Magnus could hardly credit that possibility. The man had no muscles to speak of. But then, Magnus knew of one Danish jarl, Sven Spear Thrower, who was short and stout, which he made up for by being mean as a snake.

As the crowd parted, Magnus got his biggest surprise of the day. It was a woman. But not just any woman.

"Good Lord!" the woman murmured.

Did she think he was a lord? Well, he would correct that notion later. And good? He would hardly describe himself in that way, though he was not bad, either.

Even as he puffed out his chest at her blatant inspection of his body, every fine hair on Magnus's body stood at attention. Just looking at this woman made his bones turn to pudding and his fingers itch to reach out and touch her to see if she was really… well, real. In all his thirty and seven years, he had never been affected by a female in such a way… and definitely not on a first meeting.

Is it a spell?

Is it a conjuring by the white-haired woman with the prayer beads?

Is it a joke by that jester god, Loki?