Sirens - The Gripping Beast Part 3

"Dane," she said calmly, "how could it possibly have escaped your notice that this man is a raving lunatic?"

Dane laughed.

The lunatic took offense at her statement. Not surprisingly.

"You will not slander me."

"It isn't slander if it's the truth," Lorelei retorted. "You've got bats in your belfry. You're a few bricks shy of a load. You're not playing with a full deck. Am I making myself clear? You're a runaway from a rubber room. A couch case. Delusional and who knows what else. A sword-wielding psycho." She ended her descriptive monologue with a disgusted wave at the offending sword.

The psycho scowled fiercely. "You will apologize for your slander, or you will be punished."

Lorelei hooted at that threat. "Punished? I'm already being punished. Besides, you really are nuts if you're saying what I think you're saying."

"What do you think I am saying?"

She held a hand towards him and he took it, pulling her to her feet. "Thanks." She brushed at her skirt, then gestured at his size. "Now, look at your fist."

Uncomprehending, he did.

"Then look at me," she continued.

He did that also.

"Now put the two together," she suggested. "You hit me with that once, and it'll be the last time."

He looked even more ferocious. "Do you threaten to run away? The punishment for escape is-"

"Don't tell me," she cut in. "Death by torture, right? You'll force me to listen to John Denver records until I beg for mercy. No, my large muscle-bound friend, I do not threaten to run away. I am simply pointing out the little fact that one love-tap from you is likely to put me to sleep for the last time." She patted him kindly. "Didn't think that one through, did you? If you really want to keep me, killing me is a bad plan."

Killing her was sounding better all the time. But she had the right of it. He dared not strike her, much as she deserved it for her insolence. Not that he would do such a thing. Had he not drawn his sword to protect her at the first sight of her? He had not gone to the trouble of taking her for his own to abuse her. Although to be fair, he acknowledged silently, she could not know what manner of man he was. Still, it p.r.i.c.ked his pride and Erik vowed to silence her taunting tongue at the earliest opportunity.

She met his eyes calmly and added, "I want you to understand that I'm not going to cooperate with whatever plan you've cooked up."

Erik frowned. Nothing was cooking. Did she mock him again?

She went on, "You stole me. If you think I'm going to sing for you, you can think again." She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much in comparison, and gestured towards the longboat's covered storage hold. "I'll be in the cabin waiting while you boys decide what you're going to do."

Then she calmly walked away as if she had every right to do as she pleased, dismissing him completely.

Chapter Three.

He was infuriating, Lorelei fumed.

She was so annoyed that it was a full ten minutes at least before her surroundings made any impact on her and she started to examine the contents of the odd room on the even odder boat.

Which was when it dawned on her that she'd never seen one like it. Or seen any boat with a red sail, come to think of it. And...had she really seen round s.h.i.+elds along the sides? And were those men actually manning oars?

The clothes, those were really strange, too.

And Conan's sword. They all had swords, but his was a museum piece, even she could see that. The ornate figures and the intricate metalwork declared the sword's value even without the jeweled hilt. Where had he gotten a sword like that? Were the others similar?

She frowned, and realized something else was nagging at her. Something that wasn't quite right.

She hesitated, then stepped back out on the deck to take a good look at everything.

The nearest rower didn't protest when she peered closely at his clothing, then his sword. It was also fine workmans.h.i.+p, with decorative patterns etched in the blade. Lorelei looked him over carefully, then asked, "What's your name?"

The man smiled at her. "Bjarni."

"Barney," she echoed faintly. "Nice to meet you."

Conan came over, probably to continue their conversation, but she waved him away. "Not now, I have to see Dane."

Dane, fortunately, was right there, smiling his devilish smile. "You wish to see me?"

She nodded, looking back at him. There was something...

When she saw it, the shock made her stagger against Conan. She clutched at his arm for support automatically. "No," she muttered. "That isn't possible. It isn't."

For a long, frozen moment, she simply stood and stared as she tried to understand how Dane had grown a full beard in a single hour. He couldn't have, her mind insisted. So it wasn't real.

Right. She stepped forward and yanked at the curling blond hair on his chin.

He yelped in pain, and struck at her hands.

Lorelei let go as suddenly as she'd grabbed him and stepped back against Conan's supporting bulk. "A beard," she whispered, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. "How did you get a beard, Dane?"

The man winked at her. "You may call me Harold," he informed her.

"Harold." The name was as unfamiliar as the man, she realized. "You aren't Dane."

Harold grinned at her. "Certainly I am a Dane. Even if I were not, I might become one to please you."

Dane wasn't Dane, and something was wrong with the universe, Lorelei realized. She'd thought earlier that her confusion was due to some kind of drug. But what if it wasn't? What if it was something else, like, say, time displacement? Or a trip to some kind of alternate universe? There was a parallel reality theory, wasn't there? Some mathematician had written a piece explaining the missing matter problem by some convoluted explanation of probability calculus, which proved that infinite probabilities existed in a "real" state simultaneously. The whole thing had to do with quantum physics and was way beyond her. But what if it wasn't just a theory? What if everything that would ever happen, could happen, or had happened was happening simultaneously and you could just step from one probability to another?

Lorelei started to shake.

She grabbed the man she supposed she'd better start calling master by his leather vest and whispered pitifully, "Help."

Erik frowned at her in suspicion. What was the woman about now? Did she expect him to believe she was suddenly overcome with terror at the sight of his brother's beard when she had no fear before a band of Vikings or an Arab slaver?

She frowned back at him and hissed, "Master, all right? Are you happy now? I said it. Now help me, dammit!"

Odd, but her concession did not please him as much as he had expected. He wished her to acknowledge his owners.h.i.+p, true. But she did not seem to really mean it. That was it, he decided. She was humoring him, and he did not find it pleasing to be made the fool in her jesting.

She made a faint noise in her throat, and buried her face in his chest. "Help me, or I'm going to start having a screaming fit right here in front of everyone," she stated in a shaking voice.

He hesitated.

She started to scream.

And scream. And scream. Putting his hand over her mouth only m.u.f.fled the noise faintly. Erik turned to Harold. "Do something," he grated out. "You upset her with your beard. Make her stop."

Harold put his hands to his face. "I am not going to shave my beard!" he protested, giving Erik a wounded look. "How can you say I upset her? I did nothing."

Svein left his oars and offered helpfully, "When my wife's mother has hysterics, we slap her."

Erik eyed the woman doubtfully. "I do not think that will work."

"Throw water on her," Bjarni suggested.

It was as good an idea as any. Erik nodded, and the men hastily complied. The sound was unnerving. The woman could scream like no other. She made his ears ring and his teeth hurt. He hoped water would work.

Dousing her did prove to have an effect on her, but not necessarily a good one.

She gasped, spluttered, shook her head and wiped at her eyes. She gave him a furious look. Then she started to cry.

The men exchanged helpless looks and retreated to their oars, leaving Erik with a wailing woman in his arms.

He sighed.

Then he picked her up and carried her back to the hold. "Cease," he muttered again, hoping against hope that he might actually be obeyed.

"I can't," she informed him with a sob. She curled her arms around his neck, buried her face against him and continued to weep like one mourning the dead. "I'm lost. I want to go home."

So, she found being his so distressing that she must scream and weep and carry on? His pride wounded, Erik snapped cruelly, "You have no other home. Where I say you belong, you belong. You are my property and you will resign yourself to it and cease these unpleasant displays."

But in contrast to the harsh words, his hands were gentle as he dried her face with a soft linen cloth.

Lorelei sniffed, took it and finished the task, removing the bulk of her stage make-up in the process. Then she took stock of the s.p.a.ce the man held her in. Some sort of cargo hold, she supposed, not terribly interested. She had bigger concerns than where they stored their stuff. She dismissed the room, and leaned her cheek against Conan companionably while she tried to sort out everything. And failed.

None of it made sense, and she was tired of thinking about it. For now, she just wanted to let Conan hold her until she felt like coping. She gripped his shoulders in sudden fear, and he looked at her questioningly.

"Don't let go of me," she pleaded. "I might fall into another time warp. Or probability. Or whatever. I don't want to get more lost. Will you just hold onto me?"

Her words were strange, yet Erik thought he understood something of her meaning. She was indeed foreign, and must have been sold into slavery unexpectedly. She was unsure of her place. Unsure of what might befall her next. He slowly let one hand follow the silky raven hair from the crown of her head to her waist. She probably feared he would sell her to another or give her to his men.

He settled her more closely on his lap and held her securely. "I will not let you go," he a.s.sured her. "You are mine. Mine alone."

She made a faint choking noise at that. "That's debatable," she muttered. "But we can fight about it later." She s.h.i.+vered and then subsided in his grasp. "Erik, right? That's your name?"

"Yes."

"I'm Lorelei," she offered. Then she s.h.i.+vered again. "This is so insane. We're exchanging names, and next you'll ask me what my sign is. I'm in a cosmic single's bar."

Erik frowned. She was beginning to babble again, and Freya, if she began to scream again he would be sorry he had bought her. Still, she made him curious. "What is this sign?"

"You know, astrology. I'm not a believer. Of course, after today, I might start believing in all sort of things," she answered.

"Do you speak of the stars?"

"Yeah."

He considered that. Then he asked, "Do you mean that you claim to belong to a star? You come from there?"

Lorelei giggled weakly. "No, now you're talking about UFOs. I mean, the star you're born under. Your sign. It's just a conversational opener. Something to say to break the ice."

Erik frowned. She was jesting with him again. "What ice?"

She sighed. "Nothing. Forget it. Let's just not talk for a while, all right?"

No, it was not all right. He pushed her chin up and informed her, "You do not make demands. You will adjust to your new position. You belong to me and you will obey me. Do you understand?"

She understood all right, Lorelei thought wearily. "Put a sock in it," she muttered. "I'm not up to this. You can interrogate me later, can't you? Just think how much more efficient it'll be when I'm not having a nervous breakdown."

"You will not begin to scream again."

"I will not scream again," she parroted. "Especially if you stop asking me questions. If you really want to help, you could give me a drink. I probably really need one." She paused to think that one over. "Then again, maybe getting drunk isn't the answer. It's not going to help me solve this problem."

"We have a saying," Erik returned. "'There is no better load a man can carry than much common sense; no worse a load than too much drink.'"

"Thank you for the Viking proverb," Lorelei muttered dryly.

"You will learn to speak to me with the proper respect."

Lorelei sighed. He had no sense of humor. None at all. The one funny thing he'd said had been totally serious. She had to take a trip into a dimension beyond time and s.p.a.ce with Erik the Earnest. It figured.

"So, you're a Viking," she began, deciding that since she couldn't avoid it, she might as well talk about it. Which was when she realized she'd been speaking Algonquin all along. So it really did parallel Old Norse as one disputed language study claimed. Further proof of the Viking settlement in New England. If she ever got home, she could rock the linguistic world. She must have simply responded to the language she heard him speaking without thinking.

"A Dane. Yes," he replied.

"Uh huh." She didn't see that there was any distinction, but she let it ride. "And where are we, Erik?"

That got the literal kind of answer she might have expected. "Aboard my longboat."

"Uh huh."

"What does this mean, 'uh huh'?"

"It means I follow you."

"At last you are beginning to act like a proper slave."