They withdrew a little on either side, still glowering. Ingeborg went on quietly: “I think I know what’s wrong. Herr Ranild, these children of the clean sea have been rubbed raw by days in a town where hogs root in the streets, by nights in a room full of stink and bedbugs. Nevertheless, you, Tauno, Eyjan, Kennin, should’ve listened to a rede well meant if not so well spoken.”
“What is that?” Tauno asked.
Ingeborg flushed; her eyes dropped and her fingers wrestled.
She said quieter yet: “Remember the agreement. Herr Ranild wanted you, Eyjan, to go below for him and his men. You would not. I said I. . . would do that, and thus we came to terms. Now you are very fair, Eyjan, fairer than any mortal girl can be. It’s not right for you to tlaunt your loveliness before those who may only stare. Our voyage is into deadly danger. We can’t afford strife.”
The haltling bit her lip. “I had not thought of that,” she ad-mitted. Flaring: “But rather than wear those barn-rug rags when we’ve no need of disguise, I’ll kill the crew and we four will man this ship ourselves.”
Ranild opened his mouth. Tauno forestalled him: “That’s empty talk, sister mine. See here, we can stand the horrible thiqgs till we pass Als. There we’ll dive down to where Liri was, fetch garments fit to use-and cleanse the filth of these off us on the way.”
Thus peace was made. Men kept leering at Eyjan, for the rainbow-hued tunic of three-ply fishskin that she donned after going underwater showed cleft of breasts and hardly reached past her hips. But they had Ingeborg to take below.
The human clothes had been from that woman, who walked alone through rover-haunted woods to Hadsund, got Ranild in-terested, and met the siblings on the shore of Mariager Fjord to guide them to him. Once the bargain was handselled, he had to persuade his men to go along. Gaunt, surly, ash-pale Oluv Ovesen, the second in command, had not hesitated; greed ruled his life. Torben and Lave said they had faced edged steel erenow and looked at the end to face nooses; therefore, why not a kraken? Palle, Tyge, and Sivard had let themselves be talked over. But the last deckhand quit, which was why young Niels Jonsen was taken on.
No one asked Ranild what had become of his former crewman. Secrecy was important, lest priest forbid or noble thrust into the undertaking. Aslak was simply never seen again.
That first day Herning passed the broad beaches and thunderous surf of the Skaw, and from the Skagerrak entered the North Sea. She must round Scotland, then work southwest to a locality well beyond Ireland. In spite of being a good sailer, she would need Godsend winds to make it in less than two weeks-which in truth was how long the time became.
Since she was traveling in ballast, there was ample room below decks, and that was where the men slept. The haltlings disdained such a gloomy, dirty, rat-scuttering, roach-crawling cave, and took their rest above. They used no bags or blankets, only straw ticks. Often they would spring overboard, frolic about the ship, maybe vanish beneath the waves for an hour or two.
Ingeborg told Tauno once that she would have liked to stay topside with them; however, Ranild had ordered her to spend the nights in the hold, ready for whoever might want her. Tauno shook his head. “Humans are a nasty lot,” he remarked.
“Your small sister has become human,” she answered. “And have you forgotten your mother, Father Knud, your friends in Als?”
“N-n-no. Nor you, Ingeborg. After we’re back home-but of course I’ll be leaving Denmark.”
“Yes.” She glanced away. “We have another good fellow aboard. The boy Niels.”
He was the sole crewman who did not use her, and yet who was always cheerful and polite toward her. (Tauno and Kennin likewise stayed clear of that pallet in the hold; those who now shared her were not honest yeomen and fishers, and for themselves they had billows to tumble in, seal and dolp~in to play with, flowing green depths to enter.) Mostly Niels followed Eyjan about with his eyes and, shyly when off watch, himself.