“What now?” Dave asked.
“I’ll be right back,” Neil said. He got to his feet and made his way to the rear of the ship. Erik had turned his back on Neil and was leaning over the rail. His big shield hung from his shoulders, covering half his back. When he heard Neil approaching, he turned again, and leaned his elbows on the rail of the ship.
For several seconds, his eyes bore into Neil’s, and Neil almost wanted to turn away from the serious intensity of them.
Erik gestured with his head, a sharp movement, a twisting that indicated the area behind his right shoulder.
“What do you see out there?” he asked in Swedish.
“Water,” Neil said.
“And there?” Erik pointed to the ocean on the port side of the ship.
“Water.”
“And there?” He pointed forward.
“W-water.”
“Do you see any land?” Erik snapped.
“N-n-no,” Neil answered, his voice wavering.
“When?” Erik demanded. “When will you find land?”
“I-I don’t know, exactly.”
“Do you know what will happen if you don’t find land?”
“Yes.”
Erik smiled with his mouth, but his eyes remained cold and impassive. “Would you like a bit of advice?”
“Well,” Neil said uncertainly, “sure.”
Erik’s answer was brief. “Find land.”
He turned his broad back on Neil then, and his right hand went to the glistening ax that dangled from his belt.
Neil walked slowly to the bow of the ship and sat down beside Dave.
“Well, what did our captain want?” Dave was lighting a cigarette with his lighter. He puffed on it, put the lighter in his shirt pocket, and looked quizzically at Neil.
“He wants land,” Neil said.
Dave blew out a puff of smoke. “Does he really? Well, well.”
“He’s serious, Dave.”
“I know. If only it weren’t for Shorty. That runt has been giving Erik the needle ever since he took us aboard. I can’t blame him for being a little uneasy.” He blew out more smoke.
Neil noticed that several of the crew members were watching Dave’s cigarette. Their eyes widened, and they turned to each other, speaking in concerned tones.
“You’d better put that out, Dave. I don’t think our friends like it too much.”
Dave took a last drag on the cigarette and stamped it underfoot. Almost immediately, Olaf was standing beside them, looking down at the crushed cigarette.
“What is that?” he asked Neil.
“My friend was smoking,” Neil replied.
Olafs face remained blank. “Tell your friend to throw this evil cylinder overboard.”
“He wants you to throw it overboard, Dave,” Neil explained.
“Throw what overboard?”
“The cigarette.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell him,” Dave said, his eyes glued to Olaf’s face, “that the cigarette is no longer burning. It can do no harm.”
Neil swallowed and said, “My friend’s cylinder no longer burns. It cannot harm…”
Olaf’s arm shot out with a sudden movement, and he gripped Neil by the shirt front.
“Tell your friend to pick it up!” he shouted.
Dave’s face went tense, and tight lines formed about his mouth and his eyes. Before Olaf knew exactly what was happening, Dave’s hand had come down on his wrist, hard, forcing it away from Neil’s shirt.
Olaf backed off a few paces, and his hand dropped to his ax. Slowly he pulled it from his belt and tested the blade with his finger tips.
Dave backed off. “Tell him I’ll fight him with fists if he’s not too scared to put his meat chopper away.”
Erik strode to the bow of the ship. “What is this?” he asked, his voice rising in threat.
“One of the demons defies my command,” Olaf said.
A tight knot of sailors formed around the group huddled in the stern sheets.
A fat sailor with a black mustache stepped forward and said, his eyes round with excitement, “The demon breathed fire. I saw it, I saw it.”
“Aye,” another sailor piped up. “Fire from his mouth and from his nostrils.”
“What nonsense is this?” Erik asked. “No man breathes fire.”
“These are not ordinary men,” Olaf said. “They are cursed, and their vessel is transparent. We should never have taken them aboard.”
“Aye,” a sailor with a patch over his right eye added, “I too saw the one with the twisted nose breathe smoke. Olaf is right. They are more than men, and nothing less than demons.”
“Three days we have sailed,” another seaman said, “and no land.”
“And no sign of land,” another spoke up.
“Olaf is right. Kill the demons and throw them to the sharks.”
“Aye, kill the demons.”
“Kill the demons!”
“Kill the demons!”
The cry rose like a chant around the clustered deck of the Norse ship. Axes slid noiselessly from their halters, and browned arms sliced at the air in protest.
“This looks bad,” Neil whispered. “We’re really in for it, now.”
“Shorty again,” Dave said. “Always Shorty and his big mouth.”
“He still says we’re demons, that we should be killed.”
Dave thought silently for a second. The noise of the sailors reached his ears as they pressed closer to the group in the stern sheets.
“Ask Shorty there if he’ll fight with a demon.”
Neil hesitated.
“Go on,” Dave said. “Ask him!”
“Do you dare fight a demon?” Neil said to Olaf. “Do you dare fight him with your fists?”
“A demon is evil,” Olaf pronounced. “I can defeat a demon because evil holds no power on this ship.”
The crew cheered Olaf’s words, and Neil waited for silence before he spoke again.
“And if this demon should defeat you, and using your own logic, he is no longer a demon. He is a mere man who beat you in fair combat.”
“He is a demon,” Olaf declared, “and I will destroy him.”
“But if he wins,” Neil persisted, “is he not then human? You yourself say that evil holds no power on this ship.”
Erik’s voice broke in. “If your friend wins, Olaf will have to admit that he is only human.”
“With bare fists?” Neil pressed.
“With bare fists,” Erik commanded. “Clear the deck!”
“He’ll fight you,” Neil said excitedly. “And if you win, they’ll drop all this demon nonsense.”
“Good,” Dave said, beginning to strip off his shirt. “I’m going to enjoy this. I am certainly going to enjoy this.” He grinned maliciously at Olaf.
The sailors formed into a circle amidships, a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder. Before them, against their chests, they held their heavy metal shields, rim to rim.
Olaf peeled his tunic from his shoulders and let it hang down over the belt of his garment. He flexed the enormous muscles on his arms and chest and drew in a deep breath. Several friends patted him on the back and hovered around him, chuckling, glancing every now and then at Dave who had stripped to the waist.
Dave was taller than Olaf by at least eight inches, and his height gave a lean suppleness to the appearance of his body. But he was as strong as a metal spring, Neil knew, his muscles tough and sinewy, neatly covering the big bones of his body. And he had boxed at college.
“Just take it easy,” Neil advised. “Don’t let him get those arms around you. I don’t imagine there’ll be any rules in this match, Dave.”
“I’ll take him,” Dave said confidently. “Don’t worry.”
“Are you ready?” Erik called.
“We’re ready,” Neil said.
Olaf stepped into the circle of men, the shields lowering momentarily to admit him, and then closing into a tight, metal ring again.
Dave entered the circle on the other side, and Erik handed Neil a shield.