Berserker Series, Book 1 Page 10

  “Naw. You have,” Owen said. “I was just glad I was in the right place to be of help. There’s a lot of crass men in this part of the country, I’m sorry to say. You were right to get away from him. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “No, thank you,” Stieg said. “We will walk to the depot.”

  “All right then. Safe journey to you.”

  He turned toward his horse and was up in the saddle in a heartbeat.

  “Wait!” Hanne said. “What is the name of your dog?”

  “Daisy,” he said. She felt his eyes on her face.

  Then the cowboy whistled for his dog and set off toward the town.

  As she watched him ride away, Hanne’s stomach growled. She had not killed anyone, or hurt anyone, but her Nytte had been roused and now she was hungry.

  * * *

  OWEN FLICKED THE REINS and urged the horse into a canter. Pal needed to be cooled down. Going all out that way, all of a sudden, wasn’t easy. Pal had done well in the heat of the moment, and Owen decided to get him some turnips or carrots if there were any to be had.

  He couldn’t ride away the strange feeling he’d drawn from that girl. Not the one he’d plucked off the train, but her sister.

  She wasn’t pretty like the girl on the Pears’ Soap advertisement his older brother Harvey had hidden in his tack box, but she was striking to look at. She had light blond hair the color of parched straw, and it was up in braids, woven around her head like a crown. Her eyes were wide set and skeptical. He thought they’d been blue.

  Anyway, it wasn’t the way she looked, but something about the way she held herself. Graceful, wary. She’s fallen off a moving train, then brushed herself right off without complaint. And he liked the way she’d told him about the bad man on the train. It made it easier to help someone if they just came out and told you what was wrong.

  Pal plodded into town, Owen letting the horse set his own pace.

  His meeting at the depot was a dead end. The stationmaster, Jerry Walsh, had not seemed happy to hear his sister’s name at all. He had, in fact, cussed her, calling her a relentless busybody.

  Owen’s best chance, Walsh said, was to try the livery stables in Livingston. There were three of them. Owen walked his horse toward the first.

  * * *

  THE CONDUCTOR WAS upset about the Hemstads departing the train in such a way, but far more upset about the shattered lock and two busted doors.

  “Lookit! The glass is broke and the handle ruined! I need their names.” He had a red complexion, and the breakage was making his face even more inflamed.

  “I don’t know them, sir,” Rolf stated.

  “I heard you banging on the door, shouting as how you meant them no harm. What was that about?”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” Rolf insisted.

  “Describe them to me, then. I’ll be making a report to the police when we get in to Bozeman.” The conductor took a small, leather-covered notebook and a pencil from his pocket. “What’d the one who broke the door look like?”

  Rolf found his wallet in his pocket. He removed two ten-dollar bills. He wasn’t entirely sure this was enough money; figuring out the exchange rate between kroner and dollars still gave him pause.

  “Listen,” Rolf said. “Perhaps we could let this go.”

  Rolf offered the bills up awkwardly, not sure how to hand them over.

  The conductor shot a glance over Rolf’s shoulder to make sure they were not being observed, then he picked the bills out of Rolf’s fingers and stuffed them in an interior pocket. “I’ve got to interview the other people in the car and write it all up.”

  “You could interview them. But who’s to say what goes in your report but you.”

  The conductor eyed Rolf’s wallet. Gave a discreet nod.

  “I’ll need your name, at the very least,” he said.

  Rolf opened it and removed another ten-dollar bill. He handed it to the conductor, who took it without acknowledging the transfer in the least. The conductor’s attention was focused on the notebook in his hands.

  “Jake Durham,” the conductor said. He recorded the name in a little notebook. “A rowdy out of Castle Rock, Colorado. That should do it.”

  He gave a little self-satisfied chuckle and repeated himself. “Jake Durham. It just came into my head.”

  Rolf nodded. The man seemed to need some validation. “Yes, a good invention.”

  Rolf marveled—somehow he’d found himself surrounded by vain, immoral men.

  Tired and discouraged, he made his way back to his seat only to find Ketil still sleeping.

  In fifteen minutes—no, less than that—everything was ruined. The Nytteson had jumped the train, and Rolf and Ketil would have to find their trail or lose them forever in the endless western frontier of the United States of America.

  It was a headache upon a headache.

  The train was moving too fast for Rolf and Ketil to jump off now, though for a moment, as he watched his handsome and despicable partner sleeping, Rolf considered hurtling himself off, anyway.

  “Despair and failure,” Rolf thought. “Same stone, gritty between the teeth/Odin disavows me.”

  Ketil opened one eye.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  Ketil laughed when Rolf told him. He thought it a great joke and said he couldn’t wait to tell the Baron. Rolf was aghast at Ketil’s reaction. It was hardly a comical turn of events.

  When they disembarked at the next station, some twenty-five long miles down the track, Rolf was able to convince the baggage men to give them the children’s trunk by using the same method of persuasion he had used with the conductor. He hoped the contents might offer some clues about these Nytteson.

  Rolf had decided not to tell Ketil what he’d learned, that the Berserker was a girl. Legends spoke of the great female Viking Berserkers, hair braids dipped in the blood of their enemies. He had found an account of a female Berserker archer, able to kill at great distances, with supreme precision. What might this girl be able to do?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Stieg wanted to purchase new tickets and set out right away for Helena. He proposed it even as they walked away from the rails and toward the town.

  “I can’t get on another train!” Sissel cried, her limp more pronounced than usual. “Not today!”

  “But they may have put our trunk off at the next stop,” Stieg reasoned. “Don’t you want it back? After all, your embroidery is inside it. Think of the many hours you worked on it.”

  “The bad man might well wait at the next station, or in Helena,” Hanne said. “We cannot take the train.”

  Stieg scratched the back of his head.

  “Very well,” he said. “We’ll spend the night. I would like to think about what we should do next. We need to see how much things cost.”

  “I think we should have a bath,” Hanne ventured. She wasn’t in the best position to be making requests, and Stieg’s irritated glance told her so. “We are filthy, Stieg. And we have plenty of money left over from the first coin.”

  “What is the purpose of bathing if we are only to put on our dirty clothes again?” Sissel complained. “We cannot even wash our clothes and change into other garments, for we have none now that our trunk is gone.”

  “That man knew who we were,” Hanne said resolutely. “He meant us harm.”

  Not one of her siblings would look at her. They all trudged toward town, heads down, marching through the brown grass. Knut rubbed at his elbow. He’d hurt it when he jumped from the train. Stieg was limping, as well.

  “I cannot describe to you what I felt, but I tell you, we were in danger!” Hanne repeated.

  “Very well, Sister, we believe you,” Stieg said, though he clearly did not. “But you must remember that we want to pass unnoticed. Jumping off a train draws attention to us. I would imagine that the people in our car will be talking about it for some time to come.”

  Hanne’s chest was tight. Her brother was correct.
Her rash actions had probably placed them in more danger. But as she felt the prick of tears in her eyes, she felt Stieg’s hand on her arm.

  “Easy, Sister. It has been a long journey. A hot meal and a night of rest will do us good.”

  Hanne nodded. She gave her brother a small smile.

  The town of Livingston was bustling. It had been founded to serve as a hub for the Northern Pacific Railroad and was booming to life. The noise of hammers and of men calling to one another could be heard as the siblings drew closer. Buildings were going up at a fast pace—fine brick buildings as well as wooden houses and shops. There was already a busy main street, and another one intersecting it. The streets were hard-packed dirt, edged with wooden boardwalks so that in foul weather one might stay out of the mud. The Hemstads stepped up onto them and walked toward the center of town. Small homes made a grid around the crossed thoroughfares. Hanne counted at least five hotels and three general stores, as well as a dry goods emporium, even a haberdashery.

  Hanne wanted them to keep to the shadows at the side of the walkway. As they ventured farther into town, she became conscious of the heavy clomping her wooden-soled shoes made. She worried they would stand out, as immigrants, and freshly arrived, due to how tired and dirty they looked. Knut’s size meant they already drew notice. If lawmen were hunting for them, they might give themselves away by looking so road weary. But she found there was such a variety and quantity of people in the town that no one seemed to notice them one way or another. There were shopkeepers in tidy clothes and cowboys toting their saddles around on their hips. There were two well-dressed women with parasols who seemed to be aristocrats, if there were such positions in America, as well as women in plain garb, wearing work clothes and homespun wraps like their own.

  “There,” Sissel said. “I want to stay there.”

  She was pointing to a three-storied wood-shingled hotel painted bright white, with a blue door and shutters. THE REGENCY HOTEL, proclaimed the sign. A placard hung from the sign: HOT BATHS. FREE SOAP.

  “It looks like an excellent hotel,” Stieg said. “Only but the best for you, my small and dirty sister.”

  Sissel giggled, and that sound cheered Hanne somewhat.

  * * *

  AFTER THEY HAD been shown to their rooms, a young, petite housemaid led Hanne and Sissel to the bathing room. It was set at the back of the building. The walls were wooden, covered with sheets of canvas tacked up with brass rivets. Three hooks were nailed to the wall for a person’s clothing, and two more held white flannel towels for drying off. The room had its own small wood-burning stove to heat the water, so it was warm and cozy inside.

  The maid showed them in, hanging a lantern on the wall for light, as there were no windows in the room. There was already water steaming in the large metal washtub, and the maid set another full pot up onto the wood stove to warm.

  “If you need more water, just call,” the maid said in a voice no louder than a whisper. She handed Hanne a dish with a slimy chunk of homemade soap and several washrags. For fifteen cents per bath, the “free” soap should have been store bought, but Hanne put the thought aside. She would soon be clean.

  “You can go first,” Hanne said. She turned her back to give Sissel privacy. Sissel did not question this. She began to strip out of her clothing, first shedding her oversize shawl, then her apron, and then her skirt and blouse.

  “Let me take your clothes outside,” Hanne said. “I’ll try to beat them to get some of the dust out.”

  “No! You can’t go!” Sissel said. “What if someone comes in? Don’t leave me!”

  Hanne leaned on the door. “All right. Never mind. I’ll guard the door for you,” she said.

  She was keeping her eyes on the floor out of respect for Sissel’s modesty, but she glanced up and gasped. Her sister was in her shift now, and she was far too thin. Her ribs showed under the skin.

  “What?” Sissel said. She had shucked the shift over her head, but held it now to cover her flat chest. She quickly stepped into the tub, only then casting aside the shift. The underdress was stained from the journey, when Sissel had been sick on the boat.

  Hanne said nothing.

  “Oooh,” Sissel said, sitting in the steaming water. “Oh, Hanne, you cannot imagine how good this feels.”

  Hanne saw her sister’s frail body relax. Her head lolled back, supported by the edge of the tin tub.

  “Here, let me wash your hair,” Hanne said.

  Sissel did not protest. She dipped her head under the water, and then Hanne lathered the thick, slimy soap into foam, massaging it into Sissel’s scalp. Her hair was so fine; when wet, it seemed hardly there and the outlines of Sissel’s skull were in Hanne’s hands.

  “I am so glad we stopped,” Sissel said.

  “Me too.” And Hanne was glad. But mostly she was glad she and Sissel were speaking again.

  “Was that man on the train really bad?” Sissel asked.

  “Of course!” Hanne replied. “Do you think I would make you jump from the train for nothing?”

  Sissel shrugged.

  “Hanne,” Sissel said. And then she paused. She didn’t meet Hanne’s eye. Hanne’s imagination began to race with all the things Sissel might be about to say, the many ways she could blame Hanne or insult her or attack. Instead, Sissel asked, “If I were to receive a Nytte, what do you think I’d be?”

  When Hanne didn’t reply, Sissel pressed on. “I imagine I’d be a Storm-Rend, like Stieg, for he is tall and thin, and I am thin, if not very tall. I couldn’t imagine I’d be an Oar-Breaker, like Knut. That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

  Hanne smiled. “I should like to see you gain huge strength,” she said.

  “Can you imagine, me lifting up cows and horses?” Sissel laughed.

  “You might be a Shipwright, like our father,” Hanne said softly. Sissel’s back stiffened. “It wouldn’t bother me, you know. Even though it’s what I wished to be. I would be happy for you—”

  “I shouldn’t be happy for me! To have my fingers and toes start to fall off once I reached forty? I’d rather be anything than a Shipwright!” she spat. “I’d rather be a Berserker!”

  Hanne knew Sissel did not mean to give offense. She wasn’t the type to purposely hurt another person, but more the type who never gave a thought to another’s feelings one way or the other.

  “Believe me, you would rather be a Shipwright. For if the price you pay is dear”—Hanne held up her hand when Sissel started to protest—“at least you are creating something. It is a power that builds, not destroys.

  “All the gifts besides mine make something,” Hanne continued. “A Storm-Rend can make a squall or calm one. An Oar-Breaker can build many things with his massive strength. A Shipwright creates with wood. But a Berserker kills. A Berserker takes life and crushes it out,” Hanne said.

  Hanne rose, took up Sissel’s skirts, and shook them out.

  “What was it like?” Sissel said very quietly. She said it so quietly Hanne could pretend not to hear the question over the rustling fabric. “To kill a man?”

  “Time to get out,” Hanne said. “I’ll help you dress.”

  * * *

  “HALLO, MY SISTERS!” Stieg greeted them. He looked refreshed after his bath, as did Knut.

  One of the kitchen maids rang a bell on the front porch, and suddenly doors banged open and people came streaming down the stairs. It was suppertime.

  The Hemstads were swept up in the mass of diners, some families, but mostly single men, who came in from both inside and outside the hotel. There were about forty people in all, and they crowded into the dining room together, seating themselves at the five large, round tables that held eight settings each.

  Before the Hemstads could gather their wits to claim four chairs together, everyone was seated, leaving only singleton seats scattered among the tables.

  Stieg shrugged at his siblings. Sissel clutched at Hanne’s hand, and Hanne found seats for them at a table filled with carpenters
, distinguished as such by both their conversation about their project and some bits of sawdust in their hair.

  Stieg sat with a large family of German immigrants, and Knut was nearby, seated with several officious-looking men in suits.

  The doors to the kitchen opened, and housemaids began bringing out an array of dishes. Each table got a platter of fried brown trout and one of sliced potatoes in cream sauce, a dish of steaming boiled turnips, a basket of biscuits, and a bowl with stewed apples.

  There was little conversation when the platters first arrived, but once everyone had been served, people seemed to feel more amenable and chatter sprung up.

  Hanne and Sissel were saved from conversation because their table partners were discussing the laying of a roof, specifically a poorly set gable that they might need to take down and reframe.

  Hanne heard Stieg making limited conversation in German, and then, as she was eating her turnips, she heard Knut’s voice come through.

  He was speaking in Norwegian to the gentlemen at his table.

  “Yah,” he told them. “I’ve arrived with my brother and sisters.” She could not hear the voices of the men, but they must have been questioning Knut, for then she heard him answer, “From Øystese.” And then, “We’re going by train to visit my uncle—”

  A sudden wind that rattled all the windows. Several of the women shrieked, and someone’s elbow sent a water pitcher crashing to the floor.

  All attention went to the windows, and conversations turned to the unpredictability of Montana weather.

  Hanne glanced at her brothers. Knut was looking at Stieg, surprised and abashed, and Stieg was signaling him to stop talking. A blush spread across Knut’s face. He was so without guile, he had forgotten not to speak the truth.

  Knut looked down at his plate, returned to his chicken pie, and didn’t say another word.

  * * *

  AFTER DINNER, Stieg took Knut by the elbow and marched him outside. Hanne and Sissel followed. They went down, off the front porch, and stood near the stairs, at the level of the street.

  “They were nice men,” Knut said in Norwegian. “I didn’t think—”