Divide and Conquer (6 page)

Dak sat up, wiping at his cheek. “Ugh, what do you feed that thing? Molded cheese? And I don’t mean the good kind, like a nice Roquefort.”

The man looked at Dak meaningfully. “Sometimes. When we can’t find Franks to satisfy her appetite.”

The response caused Dak to swallow nervously. Did the Viking think Dak was an enemy scout? Best to play dumb, he decided. “Uh, no Parisians here, though. Maybe we can find one for her?” He stood and began making his way aft to climb down, keeping as far away from the Viking — and his dog — as possible.

Apparently, the Viking wasn’t ready for Dak to leave, because he shoved the edge of the boat into the water, causing the deck to pitch and Dak to fall against one of the benches. “Yet you speak French as well as you speak my people’s tongue.” When Dak began to deny this the man added, “I heard you speaking to Vígi when I approached.”

Dak remembered the excuse Riq used earlier and tried it out. “I like languages. I’m kind of a collector of them, you might say.”

Apparently, this Viking wasn’t as gullible as the others. He pursed his lips. “Like the bishop’s translator,
hmm
? Any other language scholars in the area I should know about?”

Dak shook his head. The less he said, the better. For all he knew, the Viking standing in front of him could be SQ — maybe even a Time Warden, in which case Dak was totally hosed. He needed to get back to the tower or, better yet, inside the walls of the city itself.

“Well, it was good talking but I should probably go. . . .”

Dak had just thrown a leg over the side of the boat and was sliding toward the shore when the Viking caught him in midair. With one hand. Dak’s struggles were fruitless — the man’s hand was so huge it almost circled his entire waist.

“No need to scamper off,” the man boomed. “You entertain me. I think I’ll keep you longer; you look useful. And if it turns out you’re not, you can be Vígi’s new toy. I think she’s taken a liking to you.”

Hearing her name, Vígi pulled her lips back from her teeth. Dak couldn’t tell if the dog was grinning or just showing Dak how close he’d come to being dinner (and how such a possibility still wasn’t entirely out of the question).

Something sharp dug into Dak’s hip and he realized that it was the edge of the SQuare. If the Vikings got ahold of that, he really would be in massive trouble. There was no way he could come up with an explanation for that sort of thing.

His mind spun frantically, trying to figure out what to do. The Viking released his grip to place Dak upon the ship’s edge, and Dak took that moment to drop his satchel onto the deck of the ship, behind one of the large round shields set along the hull. It was hidden from plain view, but not particularly well.

With a deep sense of unease, Dak allowed himself to fall to the ground. When he found himself face-to-face with the Viking’s belly button, he realized just how huge the guy was.

“Rollo the Walker,” the man said, thumping a massive fist against his chest.

Dak scrunched his face up in confusion. “Walker?”

The Viking grinned hugely. “On account of there not being any horse large enough to carry a man as big as me. Who are you?”

“Dak,” he answered. It seemed like Rollo expected more. “Uh, Dak the, er . . . Cheese Eater?”

That earned another bellowing laugh from the giant. “We’ll see what we can scrounge up for you back at camp, then. There may be some headcheese left if you’re lucky.”

Dak’s stomach growled at the mere mention of his favorite food. “I’ve never heard of that one,” he said, his mouth already watering. “Is it goat cheese or cow?”

“Cow.” Rollo began walking away from the river, toward the burning fire pits spread across the countryside.

Dak wasn’t about to let him get far when there was cheese to discuss. “Are we talking something hard, like Parmesan, or softer, like a nice creamy Brie?”

Rollo glanced at him with an odd expression. “I’d probably describe it as ‘squishy,’ but then I like to leave the eyes and brain in. Otherwise you’re just left with flesh, tongue, and maybe some heart, and where’s the texture in that?”

“What? Why would you . . . ?” Dak couldn’t even finish the thought — his stomach was too busy turning over. “Eyes? Brain? How could you ruin cheese like that?”

Rollo’s smile was huge and showed a few too many teeth for Dak’s comfort. “
Headcheese
, I said. It’s like a meat jelly made from the head of a cow. I’ll give you a taste when we get to camp.”

Rollo gestured for Dak to get moving.

“Wait!” Alarmed, Dak glanced back at the north tower. Behind it a strip of hazy light began to creep up the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before the battle started. “I was just thinking that I’d scout out around the Parisian defenses, maybe see if there are any weaknesses for you to exploit in the morning. You know what they say, a prepared Viking is a . . . er . . . prepared.”

He tried to smile, but even Vígi whuffed in disdain.

Rollo leaned down until his face was right in front of Dak’s. “Let me be blunt. You intrigue me, but that doesn’t mean I trust you. I still haven’t made up my mind if you’re friend or foe, and I like to keep both close at hand. Either way, you’re not getting out of my sight. Try, and I’ll have to send my best warrior out after you.” He set his hand on Vígi’s head, indicating just who his best warrior was. “And she is not known for her mercy.”

S
ERA STARED
out the window at where Dak cowered in the shadow of a massive Viking. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and her voice had an edge of panic. “We need to go out after him.”

She’d already started for the tower stairs when Riq put his hand on her shoulder. “We have a job to do, Sera,” he said. “If we go out there and get captured, how are we going to fix the Break?”

“He needs our help,” she snapped at him, but Riq still didn’t let her go. Sera closed her eyes, trying to find patience, but there was nothing left. She didn’t understand how he could be hesitating. It was
Dak
out there beyond the fortress walls, and he clearly needed their help.

“I think there’s a bigger problem you two are forgetting,” Bill suggested.

Sera glared at him. “I
know
what we’re supposed to be doing,” she snapped. “But sometimes saving your best friend is more important than saving the world!”

“What about saving yourself?” he asked.

Sera frowned, not understanding. Bill pointed out the window. “I’d say we have about five, maybe ten minutes before the Vikings attack us with everything they’ve got. And what they’ve got is a whole lot more force than we have.”

She didn’t want to, but Sera peeked out the window facing the mainland. What she saw made her head spin. In the few moments she’d spent arguing, the Vikings had rolled massive wooden contraptions into view. She had no idea what they were, but she had a sinking suspicion that she’d find out soon enough.

Bill joined her by the window. “Ballistae,” he said. “War machines they’ll use to fling huge stones. And that’s just their opening move.”

“We have to do something,” she whispered.

Riq and Bill exchanged glances. “There’s only one thing we really can do,” Bill offered.

Sera sighed, already fearing the answer. “And what’s that?”

Riq held out a bow and a quiver of arrows as if she’d have any idea how to use them. “We have to fight.”

In the distance Sera heard the first Viking war horn begin to blow. It was followed by another and another until the air was swollen with the sound of them. “But what if we fail? What if the Vikings take Paris after all?”

Once again Bill glanced at Riq, and Sera was pretty sure there was some sort of silent communication between them that she wasn’t a part of. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he finally said as the first of the Viking catapults let loose with a barrage of stones and arrows.

Rollo had shoved Dak into a tent, set Vígi at the entrance to guard him, and then traipsed off to the battlefield. Dak protested as much as he could — not only did he absolutely have to get back to Sera, but he also wasn’t keen on the idea of completely missing the battle. That just wasn’t fair!

At first Dak tried to sneak past Vígi, but even when she seemed in the deepest sleep (as indicated by ear-shattering snores), the moment Dak reached for the tent flap she’d leap to her feet and growl so loud he felt the air hum.

In the end, he came up with a foolproof plan. Vígi was just like every other dog he’d ever known: Give her a solid ten minutes of scratching behind the ears and she’d pledge her life to you. In fact, his plan to win her over worked too well — she tried to follow him out onto the battlefield several times until he finally had to find a length of rope and tie her to a support pole in the tent.

“Sorry, girl,” he said, giving her a good rub under the chin when she looked up at him mournfully. “I don’t want you getting hurt,” he added. Her expression seemed to ask, “What about you?” which was a question Dak didn’t want to think about.

He’d found a pair of pants and a slightly flared
wool tunic and had exchanged his Frankish clothes so that he’d blend in easier with the Viking horde. It seemed to work, because as he walked through the camp no one paid him any mind. From there it was just a matter of following the sounds of battle.

Dak figured he had read more about war than anyone he knew. He’d memorized casualty lists and studied time lines of weapons development and learned battle strategy, and until this moment he’d have called himself an expert.

But real war was nothing like the accounts he’d read in books. First, there was the noise — it was so much louder than he’d ever expected. Men shouted commands, trebuchets launched piles of stones, and ballistae shot
javelins into the air; horns blared and church bells rang. Then there were the smells: smoke from fires set against the walls around the city, blood from open wounds, the earthy stench of mud and sweat.

His fingers itched for his SQuare diary to record it all with. In his mind he imagined returning home, sharing his firsthand account, and becoming a famous historian. He’d be a world-renowned expert and when he opened his mouth to share random bits of history, people would listen without laughing or rolling their eyes.

Just as his daydream culminated with him walking across the stage to receive the Nobel Prize
,
he was interrupted by harsh reality.

“You, boy!” someone shouted angrily. Dak glanced over his shoulder, attempting to look innocent. He recognized the Viking who was approaching him. It was one of the men who’d accompanied Siegfried into the chapel the previous morning — the one named Gorm, with the bright red scar slashing from eyebrow to chin, who had seemed suspicious of Riq’s ability to speak both Old Norse and French. “Don’t you think you’re a little out of time?” he asked Dak now.

The question sounded harmless enough, but Dak grasped its double meaning. Gorm knew Dak wasn’t supposed to be there, that he was from another century.

Which meant that Dak was in big trouble if Gorm got his hands on him.

So Dak ran — right into the heart of the battlefield.

S
ERA WATCHED
the first bombardment of stones in wonder. So many projectiles filled the air that it was almost impossible to see the sky. It wasn’t until Bill shoved her away from the tower’s window and crouched over her that she truly understood what was about to happen.