Chapter Five

Beams of bright morning sun penetrated the curtains, falling on Arthur’s eyelids. He shut his eyes tighter, hoping to block out the light, but to no avail, so with a groan he opened them and peered around the room. The guest room was pretty basic, with peeling striped wallpaper and bare wooden floors. One of Cousin Maggie’s smaller paintings hung over his bed, a surreal vision of the landscape outside the window, and a large round rug was placed between the two beds. Her cacti collection, of which she was very proud, was arranged in one corner, catching the morning light. Max’s bed had been vacated and, before Arthur could wonder where he was, the scents of cooking wafted up from downstairs. He hurriedly put on some clothes, hung the pendant around his neck and ran down to join the others in the kitchen.

Cousin Maggie was hunched over the hob. She smiled at him and added a couple more slices of bacon to the already heaving frying pan. A rich, smoky smell filled the kitchen as she did. Max, Ash and Stace were already sitting around the breakfast table slurping milky tea or fresh orange juice.

‘Sleep well?’ Maggie asked as Arthur sat next to the Barrys.

‘Great, thanks,’ he said. He was surprised by how late he’d managed to sleep and was glad that he hadn’t suffered any Loki-inspired nightmares.

Minutes later, Maggie served up their breakfasts. Each plate was piled high with three strips of smoky bacon, as many sausages, both black and white pudding, fried tomato halves and a fried egg. As well as all that, they had as much tea, coffee, juice and buttery toast soldiers as they could manage. When they were finished, they leaned back in their seats, almost stuffed to bursting.

‘I’m going into town today,’ Cousin Maggie told them, rubbing her own bloated belly. ‘The farmer’s market is on and I have some eggs to sell. Plus I need some groceries anyway. You lot ate me out of house and home yesterday! If you want, you can come in with me. Or you can stay here and explore the great wide yonder.’

Max and Stace decided to go into Mullingar with Maggie while Arthur and Ash chose the latter option. It didn’t take them long to clean up the breakfast mess together. When they were done, they set about feeding the animals. The pigs, Knick and Knack, plunged their snouts into the buckets of grain and leftovers from the night before that Cousin Maggie had mixed up for them. Brave Nessie and timid Bessie chewed on crunchy hay while the chickens pecked at the grain that Max poured from a bucket onto the ground. Then the five of them dressed in warm clothes, wrapping scarves and heavy coats around themselves, and were soon all set for the day.

Before she left for town, Cousin Maggie gave Arthur and Ash each a sketchpad and a piece of charcoal. Art was their favourite subject at school so they were both thrilled with the gifts.

‘Draw everything,’ she suggested. ‘You never know what might become a great painting.’

The Maggie-mobile drove off with Max waving frantically back at them.

‘So where to first?’ Ash asked of Arthur, watching the car chug away.

‘Let’s have a look at that lake we passed.’

‘OK. This way,’ said Ash and they headed off through the woods.

Eirik dismounted from his horse and surveyed the land. He was on top of a low hill overlooking a wide road. Loud metal carriages like the ones he’d seen in Dublin travelled along the road at speeds he barely thought possible. It would be difficult to navigate here. Then he spotted a tall bridge that crossed the road. There were fewer of the carriages there so he’d be able to pass that way easily enough.

Upon waking the night before, he had rushed straight into the room marked Costumes to put Bjorn’s plan into motion. The army had laid everything out well in advance, just in case. Although the actors weren’t working in the Viking Experience during these quiet and cold months, they had left all their tools there. Eirik had often hidden in the costumes room, posing as one of the peeling mannequins leaning against the wall. He’d watched the actors, taking in their skills. They had little tubes filled with a flesh-coloured tincture which they squeezed onto their hands. Then they rubbed the cream into their faces, covering any blemishes or marks on their skin. After that, they opened a small pot of powder and, using a little cushion, patted the dust over the cream, taking away any unnatural shine. While watching them, Eirik first had the seeds of an idea which he brought to Bjorn. The commander saw what a useful plan it was and, together, they worked out the finer points.

When he ran to the room, Eirik sat in front of the mirrored glass and studied his dead face. It was not the face he remembered from his lifetime. Though his skin had not wrinkled or shed quite as badly as that of the others, it was still a fright to behold. He squeezed some of the flesh-tinted ointment onto his hand and smeared it all over his frightening face. Just one coat made a huge difference. He let the first layer dry and then added more. Once that had become tacky to the touch, he patted on the powder. Bjorn had entered behind him as he worked and together they gazed at the face in the mirror. The plan had worked. Though Eirik still had too-high, sharp cheekbones and a drawn, skinny face, the skin-tone was perfect. He looked positively glowing.

They worked on the finer points of his appearance for the next hour, painting his blackened teeth with a little bottle of white paint that Bjorn had observed the actors using to correct writing mistakes, and adding a blond wig that covered the loose strands that Eirik was left with for hair. He put on thick layers of modern clothing that the actors had also left behind: a couple of woollen sweaters, a coat, three pairs of jeans – all to build up his over-slim frame – as well as a pair of thick gloves. When he was done, he stood in front of the soldiers. They all agreed that he was ready to go into the outside world now, where no one was likely to give him a second look.

With grunts of encouragement, Eirik left the army behind him and stepped out onto the streets of Dublin.

Standing in the middle of Smithfield, he suddenly felt anxious. He was in a strange land in a strange time. But he knew he had an important task. He had to get to Arthur before Loki did. He could hear the pendant singing out to him from far away. Too far to travel by foot.

It was early morning by now – the sun would rise in a couple of hours – and the city was mostly quiet. Eirik didn’t know which way to go when, all of a sudden, a loud voice broke the silence. The sound was coming from around a corner, past a tall apartment building. Cautiously he approached the noise. He had a longsword strapped to his back and partially hidden under his coat, but he didn’t want to use it unless absolutely necessary.

As well as being home to the Viking Experience, Smithfield had hosted a monthly horse fair for generations. Breeders travelled from all over the country to trade and sell their horses. It was a hugely competitive and important fair but space in the square was limited, forcing traders to arrive early. First come, first sold.

Eirik peeped around the corner to find that a handful of horse trucks had already arrived and breeders were busy getting their beasts into the temporary stalls set up for the occasion. One such trader was huffing and grunting as he tugged at a stallion’s reins. He cursed at the horse and Eirik instantly recognised his as the voice he’d heard.

‘Move it!’ urged the breeder. ‘Move it, ya bleedin’ eejit!’ The stallion held firm, whinnying loudly. Eirik didn’t know much about horses. Although he adored riding them – the feel of the strong beast galloping over the land, the wind whistling in his ears – he had never had many chances to do so. Back home, only Bjorn and the other leaders had owned their own horses. But watching the stubborn and cranky stallion, there was no doubt in Eirik’s mind that this horse wasn’t happy to be here so early on a winter’s morning.

‘Come on, will ya!’ puffed the breeder, his face turning beetroot. Just then, he slipped on an icy patch of cobblestone. His backside plopped into a fresh and steaming pile of horse manure. ‘Euugghh!’ he exclaimed, getting to his feet and surveying the damage to his pants. He quickly wrapped the reins around a stall gate and stormed off in the direction of the open truck, leaving the horse where it was.

Cautiously, Eirik stepped towards the stallion. A pair of bright, black eyes watched him approach with curiosity. The Viking raised a hand to the horse’s face and rubbed it under the jaw. He could feel the tension oozing out of the animal as the breeder grunted in agitation in the truck.

Eirik spotted his chance. Without a moment’s hesitation, he hastily uncoiled the reins from the gate and pulled himself up onto the stallion’s back. The horse even lowered itself a fraction to make it easier for the Viking.

‘Hey!’ shouted the breeder from the truck, who was now clutching a metal rod with a pair of crackling prods on one end. ‘Get off there!’ But Eirik wheeled the horse’s head around and dug his heels into its flanks. The horse sprang forward, too quickly for the breeder to stop it, and Eirik was gone, following the song of the pendant.

He’d ridden through the dawn, quickly leaving the quiet streets of the city and cutting across country, taking little notice when the sun rose over the landscape. Despite the importance of the mission it felt good to be free from the confines of the village. Now, standing on a hilltop near a major road, he knew he was getting close. He climbed back onto the stallion and cantered off once more.

Arthur and Ash made their way slowly through the forest. The land sloped downwards, away from Cousin Maggie’s house and towards the lake. The trees were lofty and mostly bare, although a few evergreens sprouted up here and there. The ground beneath was frost-bitten and hard, and icy leaves crunched under their feet as they walked. They didn’t see or hear much wildlife, but at one stage Ash did spot a squirrel, although she was too slow to sketch it.

They stopped every few minutes on their walk, usually to take charcoal rubbings of some interesting-looking tree bark. They were able to follow a trail through the trees, which was lucky, because without it they could easily have gotten lost. Ash had always loved exploring the forest with Cousin Maggie as a toddler, usually perched on her grandaunt’s shoulders, but she didn’t know her way around well enough to stray off the path.

They said very little as they strolled, something Arthur was glad of. If they started talking, the conversation would inevitably turn to Loki and that was something he didn’t want to think about right then.

Eventually they reached a clearing by the shore. The lake stretched out before them – still frozen solid and reflecting the cloudless sky above – and the round tower stood stoic and vacant on the little island. If they followed the shore around to the right, Arthur could see that they would reach the train track. To the left was just more dense woodland.

Arthur was surprised to see that the ground leading from the forest down to the shore was red. There was no grass or stones, just mud that had been frozen solid, and the earth was a deep terracotta colour. It reminded him of science-fiction films he’d seen of trips to Mars and seemed totally out of place here in Westmeath by the side of a lake. Now that he noticed it, he could see that the bright red stretched the whole way around the shore, almost like the lake was bleeding.

‘What’s with the ground?’ he asked Ash.

‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Apparently it’s something to do with the amount of oxygen in the soil here. I’m not sure. Cousin Maggie explains it better. It’s the only place in Ireland with earth like this. It’s a pity it’s frozen solid, though.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s really sticky and gooey usually, especially when it mixes with the water from the lake. When I was small we used to come down here in the summers and make mud-men. You know – snowmen but with mud.’

‘Cool!’

‘Yeah, it really is. We should come here again this summer. You’re still going to be in Dublin, right?’

Arthur really didn’t want to tell her that he might be moving home sooner than they’d thought. ‘Eh …’

Luckily for him, Ash cut him off.

‘Wait!’ she said, looking out onto the lake. ‘What’s that?’

Arthur followed her gaze. Roughly halfway between the shore and the island, something was out on the ice. He squinted to try to see better. The thing looked about the size of a small backpack; it was dark brown and was moving slightly. It looked like a–

‘Dog!’ Ash exclaimed, shocked. ‘It’s a dog, isn’t it?’

‘Looks more like a pup to me.’

Ash handed Arthur her sketchpad and charcoal. ‘Hold these for me.’

‘Wait – what are you doing?’

‘I’m going to save that pup,’ she answered, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

‘You can’t!’ he protested. ‘The ice could–’

‘It won’t break,’ she said. She put one foot on the edge of the frozen lake, leaning all her weight on it. It didn’t so much as crack. ‘See? Nice and solid! Listen to the dog, Arthur. It’s too scared to move.’

Arthur heard it now that she pointed it out. Over the slight breeze in the air, he heard the dog whining softly. There was no denying that it was stranded out there.

‘I’ll be fine, Arthur,’ Ash assured him again, seeing the worried look on his face. ‘I’ll just take it slowly.’

Ash turned away from him, trying to look more confident than she felt, and walked further out onto the ice.

‘Careful!’ he exclaimed as her foot slipped out from under her. She stopped, nodded back to him, then proceeded even slower and with more caution.

The going was tough and the muscles in her legs were straining before she was even midway out to the pup. She kept her eyes on her feet but couldn’t see the water below the surface. Despite this, as she moved further out the ice started to groan under her weight and she worried that Arthur had been right. But she was too far gone now and couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the little dog out there by itself.

Finally, she reached the pup. Its coat was mostly brown with grey streaks. Its snout was long and narrow and it had pointed ears that stood to attention when Ash approached. It looked up at her with sad black eyes.

‘Hello, puppy,’ Ash said, then patted her legs, stepping backwards. ‘Come on. Follow me.’

The pup tilted its head as if listening to her. Then it pulled itself forward on its front paws, its hind legs dragging behind it as if something was wrong with them.

‘Can’t you move your legs?’

The pup whined in response. Ash took another tentative step forward, to more groaning of the ice. She was so focused on the pup that she didn’t even notice the crack.

As she leant forward to pick up the pup, the ice finally gave way. There was another loud crack and Ash plummeted into the frozen lake.