An indescribably foul odor filled the air. Jack swallowed hard; he didn’t want to disgrace himself by throwing up. Thorgil also looked as though she was struggling. “You might as well get used to it,” the Bard said. “Beast blubber deadens the sense of smell, and if you can endure it for a few minutes, you’ll be all right.” He breathed deeply as though savoring a rare perfume. Jack didn’t say anything. He was working hard to keep his breakfast down.
“Good hunting, eh?” the old man said.
Good hunting, replied one of the fin men. Several minutes passed. Gradually, Jack’s nausea subsided and he was able to pay attention to the activity before him. Long strips of yellow blubber were peeled off and put into giant pots. Here it was rendered into a bubbling, oily liquid. The beast’s green flesh was carved and put on skewers over a fire pit. A large, leathery bag—the stomach?—was emptied of its contents, a mess of kelp and half-digested fish. Jack clamped his teeth shut again.
The bones were interesting. Jack had been expecting something like the skeleton of a fish, but this was entirely different. A series of flat paddles flared out from a central column, somewhat like branches of a pine tree. They were large enough to lie down on in the middle but grew smaller and smaller toward the tail. A fin man was cutting and stacking the paddles. “What do you do with those?” Jack asked, and then scolded himself for being pushy.
We make dishes, said the fin man.
All right so far, Jack thought. He hadn’t annoyed anyone. He put down his bundle and watched for a while longer. “How can a Pictish beast swim with such a long, straight pole in its middle?” he said.
The fin man grasped Jack’s arm and walked him to the end of the tail. The boy almost panicked. The creature’s fingers gripped him with frightening strength, and Jack didn’t know what he intended. The fin man pointed at the tip of the tail. Bend it, he said.
Jack touched it cautiously. It wasn’t as nasty as he’d expected, and he found that it was amazingly springy. He used both hands to pull it up as far as it would go, when the tail suddenly whipped back into position. Jack was flung head over heels into a wall. Fortunately, the thickness of the air saved him from real harm. He slid down with the sound of clicking in his ears. The fin men’s V-shaped mouths had reversed so that they resembled smiles. I’ll bet anything that clicking is laughter, Jack thought.
He walked back with as much dignity as he could manage. “Good for you. You’ve broken the ice,” approved the Bard. I could have broken my neck, too, Jack thought resentfully. The fin folk seemed to have the same sense of humor as Northmen.
We play that trick on all youngsters, the first fin man said. My name is Whush. You are—?
“Jack,” said Jack. He introduced Thorgil and the Bard.
We know Dragon Tongue. He shows up now and then to lecture us.
“Merely looking for stolen property,” the Bard said. “And that reminds me, I saw four human children in the victory procession.”
They’ve been here for years, said Whush. You would do them no service by taking them from their new families.
“You’re probably right.” The old man sighed. “I just wish you wouldn’t steal toddlers.”
Their mothers were careless. Without us, the toddlers would have drowned.
Now other fin folk shyly approached the flensing platform to inspect the visitors. Mermaids and merlads swam around them, darting away like frightened fish when they were noticed. Jack hadn’t thought about the existence of merlads, but of course fin men had to start out somewhere. Like the maids, the lads were much handsomer than their adult counterparts, though they didn’t deteriorate to the level of sea hags. Fin wives, Jack corrected himself. He saw a few creatures that seemed to be halfway between the two stages. Their hair was falling out and their mouths were broadening into a V shape.
The merlads were showing a great deal of interest in Thorgil, swimming in to touch her and speeding away. “The next time one of them does that, I’m going to smack him,” said Thorgil.
“No, you aren’t. We have enough problems,” the Bard said.
The mermaids were just as interested in Jack, but shyer about it. He was uncomfortable with them because they weren’t wearing anything from the waist up. At least they kept their distance. Pretty boy, come with me, one of them called.
I saw him first, said another.
You! He’ll never look at you, barnacle-face.
He will so, seaweed-for-brains! The two mermaids fell into a squabble, poking and pinching each other until a sea hag came over to separate them.
Maids! Maids! If you don’t behave, you won’t go to the banquet tonight, scolded the sea hag—fin wife, Jack amended. He had to keep himself from bolting, the creature was so overpowering close-up. With her brawny shoulders and big hands, she looked stronger than Whush.
She was cloaked in a gown that shimmered with color like the inside of a shell. Hundreds of pearls were looped around her thick, scaly neck. It was such a contrast, Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her.
You’re a bold one, giving me that fish-eye look, said the sea hag.
“I—I—was admiring your dress,” he stammered.
Silver-tongued, too, the creature said approvingly. You’ll make a fine husband for one of our mermaids.
“He’s only visiting, Shair Shair,” the Bard said. “You’ll have to look elsewhere.” Shair Shair smiled in the fin folk way, as if to say, We’ll see about that. She lumbered off, for like all the sea hags, she was graceless. Jack caught a glimpse of her toes, long and scaly with claws at the tips, beneath the beautiful, shimmering robe. In spite of her unsettling appearance, Jack rather liked her, as he had liked the troll-maidens Fonn and Forath once he’d gotten used to them.
“At first everyone was standoffish and now they’re too friendly,” Thorgil complained, swiping at a merlad who was attempting to grab her hair. “Who was that monster? She had enough pearls on her to sink a ship.”
“Do not insult her,” the Bard said sharply. “She is Shair Shair, wife of the Shoney. She’s the draugr’s mother.”
“Oh, bedbugs,” said Jack, using Pega’s worst swearword. “What’s going to happen when we tell her about her daughter?”
Chapter Thirty-four
THE SHONEY’S FEAST
Nothing happened quickly in Notland, Jack discovered. The fin folk were masters of indirection. They knew that the Bard had come to see their king and did nothing to bring it about. Shair Shair had looked the visitors over and gone away. Whush invited them to follow him around. He seemed to have no particular goal in doing this.
“Can’t we just ask to see the Shoney?” Thorgil said. Both she and Jack were tired of wandering around aimlessly.
“That’s not how things get done here,” the old man said. “If we try to hurry the fin folk, they’ll simply melt away. They have a saying: ‘The longest way around is the shortest way there.’”
“It’s already long enough,” said Thorgil.
Whush, for reasons known only to himself, led them on a tour of the farms. They observed the white cattle, the barley fields, and the chicken-of-the-sea coops. They endured a long and exceedingly boring description of kelp harvesting. They were introduced to sea goats, or capricorns. These were handsome creatures with long horns and flowing hair, and Whush informed them that the hair could be used to spin cloth. Instead of hind legs, the goats had fish tails. They could both swim and leap, and were altogether charming in the way they frisked around.