The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (2 page)

The image changes to a Greenlander in a bright yellow slicker and winter cap. But it’s the image in the background that catches my attention. Two figures wheel supplies down a dock toward a
waiting stark black ship. They’re distant, so I can’t really make out details, but I recognize the pair. Willem and Jakob Olavson.

What are you two up to?
I wonder. I notice a label at the top of the screen that reads “Recorded Earlier,” so it’s not a live feed. Not that that changes anything. None of us are supposed to get near a plane or a boat.

Orange closed-captioned text covers the pair, translating what the fisherman is saying.

The whales are gone, but the fishing is better than ever. The waters are thick with krill. There is no good reason for the whales to have moved on so early in the season. It makes no sense.

“The hell it doesn’t,” I say to the TV.

When the report ends, I turn to leave and find the way blocked by the big man I’d quickly forgotten. He’s raised his fists again.

“While I’d love to teach you a lesson about the fine art of hand-to-hand combat, I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time,” he says in passable English, which isn’t surprising, since most Greenlanders speak my native tongue. Then he goes and tacks on a “bitch.”

I sigh. “This could have ended differently.”

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol thinning his blood or if he’s just slow, but the man looks shocked when I quickly reach into my pocket and step up close to him. A moment later, his wide eyes scrunch tight as a sharp crack fills the air. His body convulses for just a moment before he falls to the floor as though freed from a noose, crumpling in on himself.

When he falls, the bar’s open door is revealed. Two people stand in the doorway, looking at me with disapproving eyes: Jakob Olavson and, half hidden behind him, son Willem.

Jakob, whose gray beard and hair frame his aging, weatherworn face, motions to me. “Raven. Come with me.”

I hesitate.

“Now,” he says. Even on land he’s still a ship’s captain.

Willem steps into the room. His golden locks and neatly trimmed beard, not to mention his wide shoulders and tall stature, make him look like the honest-to-goodness living embodiment of the Norse god Thor. As much as I’d like to channel my inner Destiny’s Child and break into a musical rendition of “Independent Women,” I still care what Willem thinks of me. Under his gaze, I see my current disheveled state for what it is and feel a little ashamed.

Jakob waves his hand toward my toppled adversary. “Pick up Malik.”

“You
know
this guy?” I ask as I step around him.

Willem offers me a consoling but halfhearted grin. “He’s our cook.”

“And soon to be yours,” Jakob says. “The ocean beckons us once more.” He fixes his eyes on me. “All of us.”

D
espite being dubious about Willem and Jakob’s presence and the demand that I join them, I can’t deny I’m happy to see them. Knowing that these two men, without a doubt, don’t think I’m insane is a relief. And when Willem opens the rear driver’s-side door to an aged Chevy Tahoe, smiles, and says, “It’s good to see you, Jane,” I return the smile, wink, and say, “Right back at you, big guy.”

The sentiment is true—I
am
glad to see him—but the message is filtered through sixty ounces of beer. My slurred, silly words shrink the smile on his face.

He nods to the open door. “We have something to show you.”

I climb into the vehicle, which smells of oil and fish, a concoction so vile it almost brings some of those sixty ounces back to the surface. I keep the fluid down, but my face must reflect my discomfort.

Willem keeps the door open and asks, “Can I close this? Or do you need to puke?”

I groan and lean my head back, breathing through my mouth rather than my nose. It’s not quite a “no,” but he closes the door. As my stomach churns, I roll down the window. When Willem casts a nervous glance in my direction, I say, “Just in case.” When he doesn’t budge, I add, “What? It’s not like I could make this dead fish on wheels smell any worse.”

His smile returns before he climbs into the driver’s seat. I turn my head to the right and find Malik’s unconscious face lolling toward me. I shout in surprise, pushing the big man away. If Jakob hadn’t quickly closed the door, Malik would have been flung outside. Instead, his head thunks hard against the window.

Willem looks back at me. “He’s a nice guy. A rough sort, but kind.”

“And loyal,” Jakob says when he slides into the front passenger’s seat. “He’s a lot like you, Raven.”

“You think I’ve been loyal?” I ask, knowing I’ve been anything but. I’ve basically abandoned them. I let out a drunken “Pfft.”

Jakob turns around in his seat as Willem steers the car onto the road. “You could have changed your story at any time. You could have fled to the American embassy. You have friends in the antiwhaling community.”

“Not anymore,” I say with a wave of my hand.

“Had you changed your story, I’m sure one of your colleagues would have ferried you back to the United States.”

I say nothing. He’s right. I could have left if I really wanted to. I’ve got money. And with the right cover story, a number of people, including military types who owe my father, would have helped me back to the States. Even if that weren’t true, I’m resourceful. Leaving Greenland
would
have been fairly easy. But I can’t say that. Can’t admit it. It would mean revealing that I care.

And that scares me. If the world goes to hell, or, more likely, we go to jail for the massacre on that hellish island, it will be easier to endure if I’m not also close to Willem and Jakob. Not because I’ll feel responsible for
their
fates, but because the overprotective Norsemen will feel responsible for
mine
. And I don’t want that to happen. Of course, the fact that they’re here now,
after months of me dodging them, means it’s a futile effort. So I resign myself to whatever it is they’ve got planned and turn my attention to the view.

Nuuk’s streets are lined with simple but colorful homes painted red, green, blue, and yellow, as if God ate too many Skittles and puked them up on the city. There are some industrial-looking apartment buildings, and the downtown area has some taller modern structures, but nothing over twelve stories. All of it is absolutely dwarfed by the tall, stony mountains farther inland. It’s the largest city in Greenland, but in a country with a total population of fifty-eight thousand, Nuuk is closer to an average-size seaside New England town than a booming metropolis. It’s quaint. And the people are kind. But it’s cold. It’s October, and the days are getting short. And dark. In two months we’ll have just four hours of daylight per day.

But it beats a cell.

And it sure as shit beats being on an island full of Draugar.

The memory of that place turns my attention back to Willem and Jakob. I wouldn’t have survived that island without them. I should trust them implicitly. But they’re up to something. “Where are we going?”

No reply.

They know this will irk me, and knowing they know irks me even more. “
Guys.
”

Still nothing. I note our general direction. “We’re going to the docks, right?”

Willem’s quick glance at Jakob confirms it, but neither says a word.

“I saw you there, you know. On TV.”

That gets a reaction. Jakob spins around. “On
TV
?”

“Just before I dropped Captain Fish-Breath over here.” I hitch a thumb toward Malik. “You were in the background. Loading something onto a ship.”

Jakob is mortified. Speechless.

Willem turns toward his father. “If the authorities saw…”

“Don’t sweat it,” I say. “I don’t think anyone else would have recognized you.” It wasn’t necessarily true. Their pictures had been shown on the news more than a few times, along with mine, and Nuuk had a tight fishing community. As the only survivors of the
Bliksem
’s sinking, the pair was well known around the docks.

Willem steps on the gas, speeding through the winding streets. My head spins from the motion, and a wave of nausea passes through my body.

“We’re going to have to move faster,” Willem says.

I groan as we round a corner and I’m pressed up against Malik’s body. “You’re moving fast enough.” My vision blurs.

“We’ll leave today,” Jakob replies. “We have everything we need.”

“What about her?” Willem asks.

I see Jakob turn back to look at me, but his features are lost as my vision fades. “If she wakes in time, we’ll give her a choice,” he says.

My eyes close.

“And if she doesn’t?” I hear Willem ask.

I feel myself fade as Jakob replies, “I would rather give her a choice, but in her current state, she won’t be able to think clearly. No one should be forced to face the Draugar, but I think it’s for the best.”

Draugar?
Draugar!
The small part of my mind still awake tries to scream a string of curses at the old captain, but I fade into unconsciousness with nothing more than a drunken sigh.

I
wake and open my eyes, but I don’t see a thing before someone punches my skull from the inside. My hands go to my clenched eyes as if they can stem the stabbing pain. With a groan I let loose a string of whispered curses. I’d like to scream the words, but anything louder than a dog fart is going to make me vomit.

Among the great hangovers of my life, this isn’t quite the worst, but it’s compounded by a dizzying undulation that’s making me queasy.
Where am I?
I wonder, and then remember who I was with when I passed out.

I stand but am sucker punched again and sent back down. I sit still, take several deep breaths, and slowly open my eyes. The floor is smooth. Painted dull gray. But a colorful braided rug covers most of it. A circle of light on the rug draws my eyes up. Through squinted eyes, I see a porthole, which confirms my fears.

I’m on a ship.

The light sends a fresh wave of pain through my head, and I turn away. The rest of the room is decorated…nicely, which seems strange. The dull gray floor and subtle scent of rust hint that this is a working vessel, not some cruise liner. So why are there flowers on the desk? Why is the blanket on the bed beneath me soft and colorful? And why is there a frikken bowl of fruit sitting atop the night table?

When I see the glass of water and antacid beside the bowl, I understand. Hangovers are caused by dehydration. A lot of people drink coffee to defeat a hangover, but it’s actually counterproductive, since caffeine and alcohol are both diuretics, which dehydrate you further. Water hydrates. Antacid makes the road to recovery more gentle. And the fruit replaces sugar and nutrients flushed from the system by the alcohol.

They’re taking good care of me, and for a moment, I don’t question it. I pop the antacid into the water, let it dissolve, and then chug the sixteen ounces of Greenland’s remarkably clean H2O. A banana chases the drink, and I’m actually starting to feel more human than tenderized beef.

As the pain subsides, I stand, let my equilibrium return, and step slowly to the portal. The light still hurts, but I push past it. The urge to know whether or not we’re at sea is overpowering. Beams of sunlight reflect off the placid waters, striking my eyes like laser beams, but aren’t enough to squelch my relief. We’re still docked.

Which means there is still time to get the hell off this boat. I head for the door and spot my keys, wallet, and Taser resting on the dresser. I pick them up, stuff them in my pocket, and reach for the door handle. It turns before I reach it and swings open.

Willem stands on the other side, holding a fresh glass of water. We stare at each other in silence for a moment. Then his eyes drift toward the dresser and then my jeans, where the lump of keys is easy to see.

“You’re leaving?” he asks.

No shit
, I think, but I keep the quip to myself. Not because I’m afraid of hurting his feelings, but because I really want that glass of water he’s holding. Without answering, I reach for the glass. He
hands it to me, and then offers me two painkillers. I swallow the pills and drain the glass.

The silence between us grows uncomfortable, and then he grins. I’m about to smack the grin off his face when he says, “The head is right here.” He raps his knuckles on a door to his right.

“The head?” I say, wondering why he’d bring it up, but then it hits me. I have to pee. Bad. “Damn your Viking voodoo,” I say as the urge becomes unbearable. I open the door, slip inside, and quickly perch myself on the toilet bowl like a doting mother hen warming her eggs. I didn’t bother looking for a light switch, so I sit in perfect darkness.

“Why the hell did you bring me here?” I ask, knowing Willem hasn’t abandoned his post by the door.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, I shout, “Well?” but regret it when my voice echoes in the small metal-walled room, exacerbating my headache.

“I’m trying to think of a way to explain that won’t result in you slugging me,” he says.

“Good luck with that,” I mutter.

When he laughs, I know he heard me. Which means he can probably hear me peeing, too. “How about some privacy? Or do you have some weird fetishes I don’t know about?”

“I’ll be in your room,” he says, and I hear his heavy, booted feet clomp away.

My room. Ugh.

I finish up and return to the bedroom.

“It was my father’s idea,” he says when I enter.

“Bringing me here?”

“The decorations,” he replies. “Bringing you here was my idea.”

“I thought you were trying
not
to get punched?”

He only half grins at this, probably because I’m only half joking.

“You’ve seen the news,” he says. “You know what’s going on. With the whales.”

In fact, I do know. Whales have been disappearing from northern Atlantic waters, not just around Greenland, but in all Atlantic waters from the Arctic Circle to the 45th parallel, an imaginary line stretching between New Hampshire and France. That’s a lot of water. And a lot of whales. “I know about the whales. The seals. The porpoises. And the fucking walruses. I’ve been telling your thickheaded Norse kinsmen the same thing for the past three months.”