Olafs hand dropped to his belt, fumbled beneath the top of his tunic which was hanging at his waist.
Dave moved closer, his mouth open with each labored breath he took.
And suddenly, Olaf’s fist emerged from beneath the tunic, and the sun glanced brightly off a shining, metallic object.
The cry tore itself from Neil’s throat.
“Look out, Dave! He’s got a knife!”
Chapter 6
Lost Again
Dave stopped at the sound of Neil’s voice. A faint look of surprise crossed his face as he saw the knife in Olafs right hand. It was thick-bladed, with a heavy handle that Olaf’s fingers clutched tightly.
Olaf stumbled forward now, spittle clinging to his lips. An ugly smile flashed across his twisted, bleeding mouth, evil and deadly on his red-stained teeth. He crouched over, the knife at the end of his dangling arm, the point raised. Slowly, he advanced.
Neil’s eyes shifted to Erik, who stood next to him in the circle. The big Norse captain stood impassive, his gaze on the figures in the center of the ring.
“Why don’t you do something?” Neil demanded. “He’s got a knife!”
Erik turned his head slightly and said, “Your friend showed Olaf your kind of fighting. It is only fair that Olaf show your friend ours.”
“Fair,” Neil protested, “fair?”
Without reasoning, he broke away from the circle and ran to where Dave stood waiting for the burly Norseman. He stood beside Dave, the shield out before them.
“Get back where you belong.” Dave muttered.
I’m just evening the odds a little,” Neil answered.
“I can handle him.”
“You handle him, and I’ll handle his knife,” Neil said. “That way, it’s even.”
But the Norsemen in the circle had other ideas. A low grumble rose from the group when Neil stepped into the ring.
Olaf stopped and reconsidered his advance. Then, throwing his head back, he bellowed to his comrades, “Now I fight two of them!” He waited for this to penetrate and then shouted, “Is there no strong arm to join me?”
A roar went up from the Norsemen, and they began to tighten the circle, methodically, slowly, shields advanced, axes and knives drawn.
“Now you’ve done it,” Dave scolded lightly. “Now we’re both in the soup.”
Olaf, visibly bolstered by the support of his friends, began stalking forward again, the knife gently nudging the air ahead of him. The circle tightened, and Neil saw gleaming, hateful eyes, shaggy beards, grinning mouths come closer, closer.
And then, from the prow of the ship where a lookout was posted, over the roar of the Norsemen’s blood cry, came another voice. It was an excited voice, high and clear, and it stabbed through the air like the slash of a pointed rapier.
The Norsemen froze, and Olaf turned his head slightly toward the bow of the ship. For an instant, Neil had the ridiculous idea that he was watching a movie and that the projector had suddenly stopped, freezing one frame of film on the screen. None of the Norsemen moved. The circle stopped moving, became an alert, inquisitive wall of listening humans.
And then again, clearer in the silence this time, the voice shouted, “Land ho! Land on the starboard bow!”
Silence for an instant.
And then, an ear-shattering outburst that rose from happy throats. Colored shields flew into the air, clattered to the deck with a joyous ring. Laughter sprang into the charged air, like rain on parched earth. The circle crumbled, and men rushed to the sides of the ship, leaping into each other’s arms, shouting, jumping, scrambling like ants from an upturned ant mound. For the first time, Neil noticed that Erik had broken from the circle before it started to close on Dave and him.
He was standing in the bow now, his eyes squinting over the sides of the ship, his voice raised along with the voices of his men.
Dave and Neil held their ground, Dave with his fists poised, Neil with the shield in front of their bodies. Olaf stared at them sullenly. Then he spit on the deck, rammed the dagger into its sheath, and turned his back. He rushed to the side of the ship and joined the men there.
Neil dropped the shield to the deck then. It rolled at his feet, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Dave lowered his fists and grinned at Neil.
“Well,” he said. “Looks as if we found land.”
Neil took Dave’s battered right hand in his own hands and turned it over. “Is it bad?” he asked.
“Not very,” Dave answered. “I couldn’t very well smash it against Shorty’s hard head, though.”
Neil gently lowered Dave’s hand. Then he clasped his friend’s shoulder, and a bright grin covered his face.
“Hey, pal,” he said. “We found land!”
Erik was the first man to step ashore. He dropped over the side of the ship and waded in, his powerful legs pushing against the water. The beach was a small one, with coarse sand and finely rounded pebbles. Behind the beach, several hundred feet from the water’s edge, was a dense forest.
“Is it Yucatan?” Neil asked Dave. They were leaning over the side of the ship, as the Norsemen pulled gently on the oars.
“Could be,” Dave said, shrugging. “Could be Pakistan, too, for all I know.”
“Or Hindustan,” Neil joked.
Dave countered, “Or even Frankenstein.”
“Ouch!” Neil said, his face twisted in a grimace.
Several Norse sailors dropped over the sides of the ship and pitted their shoulders against the solid bark. Slowly, the ship eased onto the beach.
The crew shouldered their shields, picked up their axes, and began dropping over the sides into the low water.
“Might as well join them,” Dave suggested.
They dropped into the water, Dave first, and Neil following. They held their boots high, their dungarees rolled to the knees. When they reached the beach, they sat down, brushed the sand from their feet, and slipped into their boots again.
Erik walked to where they were sitting and smiled at Neil.
“You led us to land,” he said. “I want to thank you.”
“That’s all right,” Neil said.
“And your friend is a powerful warrior. Tell him I admire his strength.”
Neil translated for Dave.
Dave grinned and said, “Thank the captain for me.”
“My friend wants to thank you,” Neil said.
“I should really have him killed for what he did to my second officer,” Erik said. “But between us, I think Olaf’s face has been greatly improved.” He began to chuckle and when Neil translated, Dave laughed loudly.
Squatting at the water’s edge, Olaf dipped a rag to wet it. Cautiously, he applied the rag to his face, screwing up his features as the salt stung into the cuts.
“What Shorty needs,” Dave observed, “is a good beefsteak.” He suddenly remembered something. “Neil, ask Erik if his crew will help us beach the time machine.”
When Neil explained to Erik, the captain immediately selected ten sailors to help Dave and Neil with the injured machine. Together, the men waded into the water and helped the Americans cut the lashings that held the timber to the machine.
They guided it to the low water, waiting for further instructions. With Dave shouting in English, and Neil rapidly translating into Swedish, the men swung the machine around so that it was parallel to the beach. Then, with five men behind each of the bubbles, they began to roll it onto the sand. The twisted rotor curled back into the air like a wisp of smoke, and the other rotor, its gears disconnected, rested parallel to the ground as the machine rolled.
When it was well beyond the high-tide mark, Dave sent the men for the timber that had been lashed to it. Heavy ropes were wrapped tightly about the upper bubble. These were placed in the hands of three strong sailors who played the ropes out past the control room and the lower bubble. Two men stood by with the stout timber, ready to prop it under the control room as soon as the machine began to rise.