The Extremely Epic Viking Tale of Yondersaay (24 page)

“Okay,” said Ruairi, looking around.

“It’s not so bad, really,” Hamish said as he headed for the doors.

“Not so bad!” Ruairi said. “It’s stinking and damp and really, really cold. Can I go to the loo?”

“The what?”

“The loo, the toilet,” Ruairi said.

“There’s a bucket in the corner,” Hamish said and pointed into the dark recesses of the dingy cave.

“You’re sure I can’t just have a quick trip to the bathroom?” Ruairi gave what he hoped was a winning smile.

“That is the bathroom,” Hamish said, pulling the creaky doors of the dungeons of Violaceous Hall shut.

It took a while for Ruairi’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but even before he could see properly, he was at the door trying to pry it open.

It was no use. He went to where the door was attached to the wall to see if he could loosen the hinges, but they were massive and soldered in place. He took his cell phone out of his pocket to call home. The battery was full, but there was no signal. He walked around the cave holding the phone up, trying to get reception, when he heard a voice rasp behind him.

“Is that you?”

Ruairi spun around. “Is that who?” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“It’s Ruairi, isn’t it? Granny Miller’s great-great-great-grandson?” said the voice.

“Yes, it’s me,” Ruairi said, cautiously following the sound deeper into the cave. In the far reaches of the dungeon, chained to the floor, sat a man Ruairi knew very well.

“Mr. Lerwick!” Ruairi said, running to see if he could help him out of his chains. “You don’t look so fantastic. How long have you been here?”

“Many a year,” Mr. Lerwick said softly.

“How come no one’s come to break you out by now? How come no one’s even noticed? We went to visit you yesterday in your shop, and everyone we talked to said they hadn’t seen you in a day or two. No one said you’d been gone for
years
,” Ruairi said, struggling with the chains at Eoin Lerwick’s ankles and wrists.

“They’ll all have had their memories manipulated by that atrocious Scathe,” he said.

“Mr. Scathe?”

“Yes,” Eoin Lerwick said. “He’s been looking for you, and he’ll be here shortly, so quick, let me tell you a few things about him before he comes.”

While Eoin spoke, Ruairi took the Swiss Army knife that Dani insisted he carry out of his pocket and tried all the attachments one by one on the locks on Eoin Lerwick’s chains.

“I believe you have something of mine in your pocket,” Eoin said to Ruairi.

“I don’t think so,” Ruairi said, emptying his pockets onto the ground in front of the old man. Granny had made sure to stuff his pockets full of things to eat and drink. Ruairi stuck a straw into a juice box and let Eoin drink while he organised everything he had on him. As he sorted, he placed mince pies and mini quiches and roast beef sandwiches behind Eoin’s back, within reach of his hands.

“In case they come back,” Ruairi said. “There’s lots of food here; you should be able to get to it when there’s no one looking.”

“Thank you, Ruairi,” Eoin said, smiling benevolently at the boy.

“I don’t see anything else,” Ruairi said, lining up coins and pens and bits of paper and fluff.

“There it is,” Eoin said. “The purple thing under the Post-it note. You found it in my shop yesterday, is that not true?”

“The gobstopper? Yeah, it was in the grape gobstopper jar behind your counter … but how did you know?” Ruairi asked.

“I left it there for you to find,” Eoin said.

“You left a gobstopper? For me? But how did you know I’d take it? I didn’t mean to take it. I’m sorry, I wasn’t stealing it. It was in my hand, and then I needed my hand, and, then I suppose I must have robbed it by accident …”

“It was no accident,” Eoin said, grinning. “And it’s no gobstopper. It’s the Violaceous Amethyst.”

Ruairi picked up the shiny but rough purply thing. “You’re not joking?” He glanced at Eoin to make sure. “This is the Violaceous Amethyst? I expected it to look more, I don’t know, more … jewel-like. But now that you mention it, I could have sworn yesterday that it was a very odd-looking gobstopper. More purply than you’d think.”

“Not purply—violaceous,” Eoin said. “Its anonymity is part of its power. It can turn the color it needs to be, and last night, it needed to be purple for you to find it.”

“Wow,” Ruairi said.

“I needed you to find it, or it to find you, so that this morning when everyone else on the island woke up thinking they were Vikings, you and your family would be safe from that intoxication.

“My ravens watched over you all night until the sun came up,” Eoin said. “Memory tells me she wasn’t able to keep you all together no matter how hard she tried. She blocked off all your doors with mounds of snow. She tells me that one member of your family shovelled herself out just as the sun was rising.”

“Mum!” Ruairi said. “She’s a Viking.”

“Actually, she isn’t really a Viking; she only thinks she’s one.”

“But how did you do all that, Mr. Lerwick? How could you get Thought and Memory to do those things while they’re out there and you’re in here?”

“I have a confession to make,” Eoin said.

“You do? Are you guilty of whatever it is they have locked you up in here for?” Ruairi asked.

“I am.”

Ruairi was not convinced. “You must have done something terrible. What exactly did you do?”

“It’s not what I did. It’s who I am.”

“You’re the greengrocer who gives us sweets and has a “Thing” for Granny Miller,” Ruairi said, and Eoin laughed.

“Yes, yes, I suppose I am the greengrocer who gives you sweets and has a “Thing” for Mrs. Miller. But that’s not all. I am also the guardian of all Yondersaay, the keeper of the treasures, and the souls of the bravest Vikings awaiting their final battle in Valhalla.”

“You’re Odin!” Ruairi said.

“Guilty.”

Ruairi paused and had a look at him. He was not quite sure what to say. “Pleased to meet you,” he said finally. “Do I bow now? Or kneel? I’m not quite sure,” Ruairi said, half bowing, half stooping, bending one knee, and then the other.

Odin laughed. “The pleasure is mine. Thought and Memory are small elements of my being. They can exist apart from my body, but they are an intrinsic part of me. It helps me to resist complete capture; I am in here, but they roam free, carrying out my will insofar as I have the strength to facilitate it. It took nearly my last dregs of energy, Ruairi, to help them assist you this morning.

“Now, listen. I fear our captors will come back for you very soon. Scathe is going to threaten to sacrifice you. He will have the support of all his men and most of the islanders. They believe you are the Red King, the Boy King of Denmark, prophesied to return upon the waves after an absense of hundreds of years to take control of the throne once more. You will have to be very brave from now until the end of the day.”

“They’re going to sacrifice me?” Ruairi said in a trembling voice.

“They’re going to
threaten
to sacrifice you,” Odin clarified. “They may even try it a couple of times. But I will do my best not to let that happen. You must use all the cleverness and bravery you have to help you survive. They may do very cruel things to you.”

“But I’m not clever,” Ruairi said. “Or brave. Dani’s the clever, brave one. I’m the one who follows her around trying to stop her from being too clever and too brave.”

“You must keep strong. You must find your bravery. You have it within you, I’m certain. Remember, sometimes the bravest option is the one that seems most cowardly.”

“I will do my best,” Ruairi said, very unsure of himself.

“Ruairi, thank you. I am delighted to have the Violaceous Amethyst back in my possession. It will go a goodly way to removing the spells that have kept me so weak for so long. However, I will not be able to regain my full strength. The Violaceous Amethyst can protect me from manipulation and intoxication, but it cannot restore me to what I once was, nor anything near it. I have a lot of work to do before that can happen, and I’ll need a lot of help from my friends.”

“But how? If you’re stuck in here, how will anyone help you?” Ruairi asked, upset.

“I know a way out,” Odin said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “There are tunnels all around this mountain—there’s one just behind me here. Thought and Memory have been loosening it from the other side for months. A good heave, once my hands are free, and it’ll be reduced to dust.”

Ruairi looked behind and saw what he meant—one patch of wall was lighter than the rest.

“So don’t worry about coming to rescue me, you hear me! I’ll make it out of here before sundown, and I will meet you at Gargle View Cottage at nightfall. Wait for me there—first I need to make arrangements with some trees—” Odin halted suddenly and tilted his ear toward the door. “Quick! I hear footsteps on the staircase. Just one more thing … we only have to survive until dawn tomorrow when everything goes back to normal. The villagers will stop believing they are Vikings, and Scathe will have no control over them. The animals and birds, the Beach of Bewilderment, the River Gargle—they’ll all go back to the way they usually are. So stay strong, stay brave, and stay alive—until daybreak tomorrow. Go on, my boy; go to the front of the dungeon. It wouldn’t do to let them know we have spoken.”

Ruairi returned to the front of the dungeon near the heavy doors and was there mere seconds before voices were heard approaching the door. Footsteps got louder and louder on the flagstones.

“And of course, they mustn’t know I have the Amethyst!” Odin said.

“Here, take this,” Ruairi said, running back to the old man who was still in chains on the floor. He placed the Swiss Army knife in Odin’s hand. “I’m sure one of the attachments will open your chains. Try them all again.” Ruairi kicked away all the debris from his pockets that was on the ground in front of Odin. He hid his cell phone deep inside his clothing, ran, and made it back to the front of the cave just as the doors opened.

Hamish entered the dungeon and approached Ruairi. There was another man with him who Ruairi recognized as one of the Turbot cousins from Faraway Farm. Close behind was the other cousin.

“Come with me,” Henry said. Or maybe it was Lloyd. They didn’t look alike, particularly, but Ruairi could still never remember which was which.

Ruairi glanced back at Odin as he left the dungeon of Violaceous Hall. The old man looked terrible. He had clearly not shaved in a very long time; his beard was extensive and a dirty white. He had probably not bathed in just as long a period. When Henry, Lloyd, and Hamish weren’t looking, Odin raised his head and gave a wide grin to Ruairi and a big wink. He dropped his head just as quickly and pretended to be asleep. Ruairi, who was starting to get very anxious now, was greatly cheered by this as he was roughly shoved through the large dungeon doors and into the staircase’s tight spiral.

Broad Hamish ascended the stone stairs, the cousins came behind, in step with each other, thin and gray as whippets. Squashed in the middle of them all was Ruairi. They had to stop every few steps because Hamish’s shoulders kept getting lodged in the narrow turns. In the end, the butcher rotated and sidestepped up, taking it one slow step at a time.

Henry tied Ruairi’s wrists behind his back. Ruairi struggled against his restraints and his breathing got quicker and shallower with every anxious step.

“I can’t believe you forgot what you were to remember about him,” one of the cousins was saying to Hamish.

“Seriously, Hjorvarth the Big-Boned and Space between the Ears, sometimes we wonder about you.”

Hamish, now Hjorvarth, grunted. “I can’t be expected to remember every little thing!”

“Jeez, wait till the jarl hears about this,” one Turbot cousin said to the other. Hamish stopped dead on the stairs and turned around. He gave a menacing snarl, exposing fat, yellowing teeth.

Henry and Lloyd laughed nervously and instinctively took two steps back down the stairs, dragging a very pale Ruairi with them.

“We’re joking, of course, Hjorvarth,” Henry said.

“We wouldn’t dream of telling the jarl. This will be our little secret,” Lloyd said.

Hamish, his shoulders taut with aggression, continued up the stairs. At the top, he stood aside to reveal a most magnificent hallway. Grand and filled with light, Ruairi had never seen anything like it.

Noticing how Ruairi was awed by his surroundings, Henry took the opportunity to cow him even more. “I am Asgrim Finehair the Artistic, and this is my cousin, Isdrab Graylock the Scientific. You are already acquainted with Hjorvarth the Big-Boned and Space between the Ears.” Asgrim motioned to Hamish. “And you, we have reason to believe, have come to Yondersaay to plunder her buried treasures.”

“No, no. I don’t know where you picked that up, but I’m really not,” Ruairi said reasonably, trying to smile. “I’ve just come on my Christmas holidays with my granny. For a holiday, not to, um, plunder.”

“What do you take us for? Fools?” Asgrim asked.

Ruairi said nothing.

“How dare you!” Asgrim said. “Your impudence is abhorrent. Look here at my sword of iron and gold.” Asgrim unsheathed a sword and put the point of it right under Ruairi’s nose. “What you see along the center of the blade, from the steely tip that could shred your skin from your bones, right down to the hilt of aged form, is a channel. A blood channel. Were I to plunge my sharpened blade deep into your chest cavity, here …” Asgrim moved the point of the blade to rest on Ruairi’s chest. Ruairi froze, trying not to shake. “… its entrance would not be hindered by an overflowing of your bloody innards. Instead, they would be cast out and would flow easily down this channel and onto the floor. You would perish in an instant. And your blood, as I just said, would be all over the floor.”