His feet padded swiftly on the forest floor, the sounds of the insects around him. In the distance, he could hear the sound of the surf as it swelled against the beach.
Erik, his mind shouted. They’re going to kill Erik.
He stopped just inside the forest, and ducked behind a tree. His eyes swept the beach. The time machine glistened in the moonlight, one of the rotors straightened already, the other still twisted. Bobbing gently with the waves was the Norse ship, a graceful curve of blackness against the moon.
His back to the ship, his hands behind him, sitting in the sand, was Erik.
Olaf hastily addressed a group of armed Norsemen.
“To the wells! Fill jugs, cups, bags, anything. Bring back water, all the water you can carry. Hurry! I shall stay with our captain.”
He laughed maliciously and kicked Erik, then strutted before the helpless man. Neil watched from the forest as the Norsemen fled toward the city.
“We are sailing, my captain,” Olaf said. His ax was drawn and in his right hand. “Do you remember when you said you would hate to leave your second officer buried here?”
Erik remained silent, and Olaf kicked him viciously.
“Do you remember, Captain? It was a joke. Everyone laughed. Do you remember?” he shouted.
“I remember,” Erik said softly, his teeth clenched.
“It’s still a joke,” Olaf continued, chuckling a little now. “Only the joke is on you. It is the captain who will be buried on alien soil, and not the second officer.”
Erik stared at Olaf, the hate in his face drawing his lips into a tight line.
“Laugh, Captain,” Olaf commanded. “It is a joke.”
Erik continued staring.
“Laugh,” Olaf shrieked, and his hand came down in a powerful blow that caught Erik on the side of his face.
“Untie me, you scum!” Erik said. “Then we will see who laughs.”
Untie! The word ran through Neil’s mind like a blaze of fire. Quickly he picked a large stone from the forest floor. He stepped out from behind the tree and threw the stone with all his might. It arced overhead, clearing the deck of the Norse ship and splashing into the water on the side opposite Erik.
Olaf’s head snapped back.
“What was that?” he shouted.
Neil picked another stone from the leaves at his feet, and waited.
“Who’s there?” Olaf shouted at the water.
“A ghost,” Erik taunted. “Are you afraid of a ghost, brave one?”
Olaf gripped his ax tightly and started to walk cautiously toward the spot from which the splash had come.
As soon as his back was turned, Neil darted out of the forest. He didn’t look back. On silent feet he ran swiftly across the wet sand. He flopped on his belly at the water’s edge, looking over his shoulder then for the first time.
Erik had seen him, and a smile covered his bearded face.
But Olaf was on the other side of the ship, searching for a stone in the Atlantic Ocean.
Noiselessly, Neil slithered into the water, holding his breath and swimming beneath the surface for a short distance.
When he came up for air, breaking water silently, Olaf was standing before Erik again.
“A fish,” he said. “It was nothing but a fish, Captain.” He laughed loudly. “Soon you will be food for the fishes.”
Neil braced his feet on the bottom, reared back, and let the second stone fly toward the forest. It landed in the top of a tree, began dropping, and, in the stillness of the night, sounded like many men tramping through the woods. It rustled the leaves, cracked against the branches, dropped recklessly, and landed with a sharp crack on the forest floor.
Olaf turned quickly.
“Who’s there?” he shouted. “Who’s there?”
“Your fish has moved into the forest,” Erik said.
“Silence,” Olaf commanded sharply. He took a step toward the forest, “Speak up!” he roared. “I am armed.”
There was no sound from the forest.
As Olaf stepped closer, Neil ducked under the surface of the water, swimming toward Erik. Reaching the shore, he gripped the bottom with his hands and, still underwater, pulled himself up in the shadow of the Norse ship. He lifted his head. Erik was directly in front of him and Olaf, his back to the water, still walked toward the forest.
Quickly, without saying a word, Neil moved his fingers over the rope binding Erik’s hands. He found the knot and tugged at it.
Olaf turned, and Neil ducked his head.
“Watch, Captain,” he said, more to his unseen foe in the forest than to Erik, “I am about to cut off the head of an eavesdropper.”
“A fish,” Erik shouted back, as Neil worked on the knots. “A flying fish with his nest in the trees.”
The rope fell from Erik’s hands, and he moved his wrists behind him as Neil ducked into the water again.
Olaf swaggered back and stood before Erik. “It must have been a bird,” he said.
“And did you not behead it, brave one?” Erik asked.
Olaf’s face went solemn. “Do not joke, Captain. Right now my men are getting water. The Mayas have gone to gather up your unconscious Neil and his friend.”
“And then?” Erik asked.
“Then I will have the pleasure of watching three beheadings.”
He was standing very close to Erik now. In the water Neil held his breath.
“Would you behead a bound man?” Erik asked.
Olaf grinned, and drew back his hand to slap Erik, but as it descended swiftly, a look of sudden surprise crossed his face.
A strong arm had leaped out and seized his wrist!
Erik was on his feet, his hand tightly clasped on Olaf’s wrist.
“Get him!” Neil shouted as he ran onto the beach.
The ax in Olafs other hand drew back. With viciousness Neil had never seen in the Norse captain, Erik turned suddenly and pulled down on Olaf’s wrist. The squat mutineer let out a startled cry and then tumbled head over heels into the sand, thrown over Erik’s shoulder and landing in a tumbled heap.
Erik was on him in an instant. He drew back his big fist, smashing it into Olafs face. Olaf wiggled under the grip of Erik’s legs, squirming to free himself. He rolled over then and reached for the ax lying in the sand.
Erik brought his fist down like a hammer, the fingers bunched into a solid iron ball. The fist smashed into Olaf’s forearm, and he drew his arm back in pain.
Erik’s arm lashed out and his fingers gripped the ax handle. Catlike, with one supple movement, he flicked it across the beach and yanked Olaf to his feet.
Another tremendous fist slashed into Olaf’s face.
“No,” Olaf shrieked. “It was a joke, Erik. We were only…”
But Erik was no longer joking. His face was dead white against the brilliance of his beard. His blue eyes had taken on the cold tone of steel, and his nostrils dilated as he punished the squat Olaf mercilessly, driving him back toward the water with powerful blows.
Neil remembered the fight with Dave and the dagger Olaf had pulled. And a second later, it seemed, Olaf remembered too, slipping it from its sheath with startling speed, cold and bare in the light of the moon.
As soon as he saw the shining, sharp blade, Erik moved forward. He reached for Olaf with widespread fingers, and there was a cold deliberateness about his move. The dagger slashed downward in a metallic arc. A line of crimson magically appeared along the length of Erik’s arm, but his face remained unchanged.
He reached for Olaf again, this time clutching the knife-hand and twisting it.
Olaf screamed as the knife toppled to the sand.
Erik’s voice came like a rasp on the night air. “Come, Olaf, we will swim,” he said.
He picked up the shouting Olaf, lifted him over his head and threw him into the water. Olaf landed in the low water, a splash gushing up around him. He stumbled to his feet as Erik staggered into the water, his arm turning a bright red with the blood that covered it.