Viking Raiders (5 page)

The crew lay on the floor of the longship to sleep, huddled together for warmth and smelling of fish – and worse.

“Get your feet out of my face!” Isis complained.

“My feet aren't anywhere near your face,” Tom said.

“Then whose feet are they?”

“Mine!” came a gruff voice.

Isis wriggled like an angry eel. “Ugh! I'm so uncomfortable. I just want to stretch out.”

“Well, you can't,” Tom said.

Somebody wafted a salted fish in his face. It smelled of rotting socks.

“Want some more herring?” Magnus offered. “Or Geir's got some salted moose, if you fancy that.”

“NO!” said Tom and Isis together. Though Cleo, who had caught a whiff of the fish, came down from the mast and was soon happily purring as she gobbled it up.

“I wish we'd never come here,” Isis said.

Tom wiped his freezing nose on her cloak and whispered in the dark, “Anubis warned us that this would be our hardest mission yet. Anyway, it's not like we had any choice in the matter.” Trying to cheer his friend up, he added, “Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find the amulet soon.”

“How? We don't even know where to look,” moaned Isis.

“The riddle mentioned fighting and looting. I'm sure we'll be doing plenty of that when we get to England.”

“If we survive the journey, that is,” grumbled Isis.

As dawn broke, Tom felt the ship rock violently up and down. It was like being on a roller coaster of enormous waves. The wind blew so hard that the canopy was almost ripped off the boat. Even the Viking crew looked worried, as they struggled to keep the longship under control.

“Do you think Anubis is making the wind?” Isis called to Tom.

“No!” he yelled back, clutching at Isis's cloak. “We're just in the middle of a billion-force gale!”

“I'm not feeling very well!” Tom groaned, clutching his stomach.

The longship rose up to the crest of a giant wave, then plunged back down the mountain of water. Tom felt his stomach float up to the top of his ribcage. It was like a never-ending fairground ride that wasn't fun any more.

Isis clung on to the bench with white knuckles. “Just don't speak to me. At all.” Her face was as grey as the stormy clouds. “I'm f-feeling a b-b-bit queasy.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Tom looked at the front of the ship and saw Erik, standing tall, peering all about him. He wrapped his huge arms round the carved dragon's neck and ducked low over the water. Then he pulled out a long shred of cloth and held it high in the air, flapping wildly.

“What's he doing?” Tom shouted to Magnus over the deafening blast of wind.

Magnus, who was still pink-cheeked and smiling, explained. “He is checking which direction the wind is blowing in, to make sure we're still travelling towards England. In a gale like this, it's easy to get blown off course.”

“But what's that lump in his hand?”

Magnus chuckled. “Don't you know anything about sailing, little fellow?”

The last boat Tom had been on was the pedalo his mum and dad had hired when they were on holiday in Spain. Vikings were supposed to know about sailing, and Tom was supposed to be a Viking. Thinking quickly, he decided to bluff.

“Ha ha! Of course I do! I just couldn't see it properly – dust in my eyes.” Tom rubbed at his eyes. Turning to Isis, he added, “But my friend here doesn't know
anything
about sailing.”

Isis glared at Tom.

Magnus nodded and explained to Isis. “The crystal Erik's holding is called a sunstone. It reflects light, even on a cloudy day like this, so he can see where the sun is.”

The gale blew harder and harder until Tom could barely keep his eyes open. The longship started to groan and creak. It was taking a real battering against the crashing waves. Terrified, Tom wondered if it would it hold together under the strain.

“HEAVE! HEAVE! HEAVE!” The rowers chanted, trying to push the boat forward against the headwind.

But the harder they rowed, the more the ship seemed to be tossed about like a carrot in a massive cooking cauldron. Even Erik had begun to look worried.

A wave crashed over the ship. Freezing-cold spray showered over them, which felt like icy needles.

“I don't want to die again!” Isis shrieked.

Tom could see she was wild-eyed with fear.

“Don't worry, my child,” said the grey-haired Geir, shrugging as the seawater dripped off his wiry eyebrows.

How can he be so calm?
Tom wondered.

Suddenly, they felt the entire ship jolt against something hard. A horrible scraping noise came from the bottom of the hull.

“What's that?” Tom cried.

The wood started to creak as though it was being bent to its very limits. Tom clutched at the bench. He wondered if the ship was going to snap in two.

“We've hit rock bottom,” Magnus said.

“You can say that again,” Isis whimpered.

“Are we going to sink?” Tom asked.

The longship swung round and suddenly a rocky outcrop loomed before them. It reminded Tom of scary-looking teeth, reaching out to bite the ship in half.

“Drop anchor, men!” Erik bellowed. “We'll camp on this here island until the storm's blown over.”

The Vikings grunted with effort but managed to steer the longship towards a strip of white sand. One surge of seawater pushed them into the tiny bay.

In the worst of the storm, Tom had pulled the hood of his cloak right down over his face. Now he dared to look up.

“Everybody out!” Erik said.

The Vikings sprang to their feet, snatching up rolls of cloth, rope and pegs from chests that were stowed beneath the benches. Within minutes, the outcrop swarmed with busy men, all pitching neat little tents in a perfect circle.

“Come on!” Magnus shouted over to Tom and Isis. “Hold the tent pegs while I knock them in. You can both share with me.”

Isis flung back her hood and stumbled on wobbly sea legs over to the camp. “Me?
Share
, with you two?” she sniffed.

“Suit yourself,” Magnus said. “You can share with Bjørn the Bone-crusher, if you prefer. I hear he's got very cheesy feet because his boots leak, so there should be plenty of room in
his
tent.”

Tom laughed. Isis glared at him, but then helped Magnus set up the tent. Soon the wind had died down a little and a fire was crackling. Everybody huddled round its flames, trying to warm up and dry their clothes. When Erik broke open a barrel of mead, the crew roared with delight. They filled their drinking horns to the brim.

“SKOL!” Magnus cheered, pushing a horn into Tom's hands. “Drink up! Like this…”

Magnus glugged the brew so thirstily that it streamed down his chin.

Tom sipped the thick, sickly sweet drink. “Ugh!” he said. “Have a taste.” He offered the horn to Isis.

Isis sniffed it. “It smells… chewy.”

Tom giggled. He held out his fingers in front of the fire. “This is more like it, though,” he said. “I don't think I can take much more of that icy water. I'm happy just staying put on dry land for a while.”

But as their fingers and toes thawed out, one by one, the men started to leave the camp and head back down to the beach.

“Where are they going?” Tom whispered to Isis.

“And what on earth are they doing?”

Isis asked.

Magnus let out an enormous burp and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic. “Don't you realise? It's Saturday!” he cried. “Bath day, of course!”

Erik towered above their little group. He slammed down a meaty hand on Magnus's helmet and chuckled. “That's right, my boy! We Vikings have a reputation to keep up.”

“Of being bloodthirsty murderers?” Tom said quietly.

Erik guffawed. “Naturally! But also...” he started to run his sausage-like fingers through his tangled red locks, “...the whole world knows a Viking takes pride in his lovely hair and how fresh he smells. Not like the English.”

“What's wrong with the English?” Tom asked.

Erik suddenly grew serious. “I've heard,” he began, “that the English never wash. And I mean, NEVER. In fact, when we land in England, don't be surprised if the smell knocks you out cold.”

Isis snorted and looked at Tom with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous grin. “Yes, I've heard that, too,” she said. “Englishmen smell like a dead horse's bottom. It's a fact.”

“Dead horse's bottom! I
love
it!” Erik cried.

Erik and Magnus roared with laughter and slapped Isis hard on the back. Tom stuck out his tongue at her, but she was too gleeful to notice. He was just about to defend the fine scent of an Englishman when he remembered that he was supposed to be a Viking.

“Ha!” he said. “Ha ha ha!” He forced himself to laugh along. “Stinky, horse-pooey English people. Ha ha ha!”

But just to be on the safe side, he sniffed his armpits.

Bath time over, the Vikings returned to gather by the crackling fire. But that didn't mean their odd behaviour stopped there.