Sandra Hill (11 page)

Mike had already told him that his father and mother had died years ago in a wheeled box accident, and his wife had passed away two years past whilst skiing. Geirolf decided he would have a man-to-man talk with Mike later and help steer him on the better path of masculine behavior. Mayhap he would even show him how to win that Sharon Stone seductress to his bed.

Geirolf had spent the morning, after Merry-Death had gone to the call-ledge, working on his English-language skills with Thea. The girl, who looked much better without her face paint, had found a child’s “primer” on the Internet, which helped him tremendously. Then they’d watched two hours of
Sesame Street
on a
public television merry-thong to solicit money. Geirolf wished he had more time; he would relish nothing better than to meet the mischievous Ernie, who felt like a newfound friend to him in this alien country. Ernie’s appearance was unlike that of any child he’d ever seen, but he had big ears like his brother Magnus, and that endeared the “boy” to him.

With the help of the talisman belt, Geirolf already had mastered the rudiments of the English language. He only needed to touch his belt on occasion now when out in society to translate odd words or phrases—the ones not found on
Sesame Street
or in the grammar texts. Such as the words that drivers of the other wheeled boxes yelled at Mike when he cut in front of them. Or the words to the songs Thea’s music box played so loudly…lyrics as peculiar as the ill-named musicians. ’Twas a curious country where men were grateful to be dead. Or a woman was merry in death. Thea was home now, painting her finger and toenails with Black Plague, and blasting the air with the raucous music.

Now his attention swerved in another direction. “Oh, Holy Thor, I think I am in Asgard,” Geirolf said enthusiastically. He soon learned that they’d entered Am-eric-hah’s version of Valhalla, a real man’s paradise—the power-tool section of the hardware store.

Mike hooted and sniggered at his fascination with the power tools, but Geirolf could not care. He would give his entire treasure chamber at home for half of these tools of the gods. In the end, it took Mike almost an hour to drag Geirolf away. Only a reminder of wasted time recalled to him the urgency of his mission. So, it was with a sigh of regret that they pushed their cart up to the wooden box…a counter…where the
store worker took their money and put it in another box…a cash register.

Geirolf’s eyes were glazed over when Mike finally pulled him from the store with their purchases. ’Twas a miracle…all the extraordinary power tools that had been invented. There were saws that moved by themselves. Drills to bore holes in even the hardest wood with no effort. All powered by something called elect-rice-city, which Geirolf intended to research on the come-pewter when he returned to Merry-Death’s library. Mike had even told him of huge shovel machines, called backhoes, that could dig an entire moat in one day. Geirolf knew a few Saxon kings and ae-thelings who’d pay a fortune for such.

“Don’t look so glum, Rolf.” Mike’s lips twitched with mirth as he dumped their packages in the back of his wheeled box. Mike’s riding vehicle was different from Merry-Death’s. It was blue, and only the front seat was covered by a roof. The back portion was a long, uncovered box—
What else!
—for hauling things. “When we get back to Professor Foster’s house, you can watch those two videotapes we bought—Bob Vila’s
This Old House
and Tim Allen’s
Home Improvement
. They’ll teach you everything you ever wanted to know about modern tools.”

When they reached the dirt road leading up to Merry-Death’s keep, Geirolf convinced Mike to let him drive his box. After several rough lurches and skidding accelerations, he mastered the technique. And it was a truly exciting experience, speeding along at what Mike said was ten miles per hour. ’Twas like the rush of exhilaration after a fiercely fought battle, or the rush of another kind after a fiercely played bout of bedsport. By the time he came to a screeching halt in front of
Merry-Death’s door, Mike was alternately bracing his outstretched arms on the dashing board and laughing uproariously.

Merry-Death stood on her front porch, hands on hips, eyes flaming angrily. Thea, in war paint that would do a Scot warrior proud, stood beside her, smiling from ear to ear.

“Isn’t she magnificent?” Geirolf said, inhaling sharply.

“Who?” Mike slanted him an incredulous glance. “Thea?”

“Of course not. Do you take me for a despoiler of children?”

“Professor Foster? You think Professor Foster is
magnificent
?”

Geirolf nodded, feeling the usual heaviness in his loins and a strange fluttering in his heart when he gazed at her.

“Professor Foster?” Mike repeated with stunned disbelief. “You’ve got the hots for my boss? You must be nuts. I mean…don’t get me wrong, I like Dr. Foster. She’s a really nice person. But
magnificent?
No way! Now Sharon Stone…that’s what I call magnificent.”

Geirolf shook his head adamantly. “You are young, Mike. Like a horse with blinders, you are. You weigh a woman’s value only with your eyes…and your cock.”

“So?” Mike grinned. “Works for me.”

“Foolish boy, there is more…much more.”

Meredith couldn’t believe her eyes. It was six o’clock and not only had Mike and Rolf been gone all afternoon, but Rolf was driving the truck. Even though
it was Sunday, she’d decided to go into her office, where she’d run into Mike. She’d asked her grad assistant to go to her house and meet the new shipbuilder on the project. She hadn’t expected him to take off on some great adventure…and certainly not to put the Viking behind the wheel of a truck.

She was going to wring Mike’s neck. Then she was going to tackle the big guy, the one who’d been causing her grief all day as inquiry after inquiry brought no answers concerning his identity, only more questions.

“Where have you two been all day?” she snapped as the two men approached, laden with bags imprinted with the Bangor Hardware Superstore logo.

“Shopping,” Rolf answered blithely, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the lips in passing. “I missed you, sweetling,” he whispered against her gaping mouth.

The casual gesture zapped Meredith speechless. She forgot momentarily why she was so angry and worried.
He kissed me. Just like that. He kissed me. In front of Mike and Thea. Oh, Lord, he kissed me. As if he had every right in the world
.

Mike just chuckled.

Thea giggled.

Rolf gave Mike a knowing look and winked.

“Aaarrgh!” Meredith said, coming to her senses. “I’ve been so worried.”

“’Tis e’er the way of women…to wring their hands when their men are off to battle.”

“Battle? Battle? You were shopping.”

Rolf waved a hand airily. “’Tis the same thing.”

Mike dipped his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Dr. Foster. I should have called, but we got sort of, uh,
delayed in the power-tool section of the hardware store.”

Rolf sighed. “I am in love…”

Meredith’s heart lurched.
He met some woman in the hardware store? And fell in love at first sight? Oh, isn’t that just like a man? Snag one woman, then go trolling for another. No, no, no! What am I thinking here? He hasn’t snagged me. Uh-uh!

“…with power tools,” Rolf finished with a speaking grin. He’d obviously recognized her dismay.

“Wh-what?” she sputtered. Somewhere along the way, Meredith had become lost in this crazy conversation.

“Rolf has discovered the grown man’s dream toy—the power tool,” Mike declared with dry humor.

“Tonight we will watch Bibveela and Timalley on the picture box. Then you will understand,” Rolf explained, pulling two videotapes out of his bag.

“Bob Vila and Tim Allen,” Mike interpreted. In an aside to Meredith, he mouthed, “Who is this guy?”

Meredith’s brain swirled, but one important fact seeped through. There was no other woman. Later she would contemplate the uncalled-for relief that flooded her. For now, she blustered, “Come inside. Dinner’s ready, and I have lots to discuss with you two. You’ll stay, won’t you, Mike?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mike said, still chuckling. “I can’t wait to see your reaction when Rolf expounds his philosophy on feminism.” Looping a free arm around Thea’s shoulder, he started into the house. “Great makeup, by the way, kid. I don’t know about the earring in the nose bit, though. Doesn’t Kleenex and stuff get caught there?”

“Oh, Mike! You’re always kidding,” Thea twittered.

“I hope we’re not having worms again,” Rolf grumbled, patting Meredith on the rump as he passed.

She barely stifled a squeal of affront.

“I have a ferocious hunger,” he continued. “A side of roast boar would be a welcome repast right now. With a slab of manchet bread. I don’t suppose…”

She laughed. “We’re having chili and sourdough biscuits. Take it or leave it.”

“I talked to my brother Jared today. He said that he didn’t send you here,” Meredith informed Rolf as she ladled out his third helping of chili and Mike’s second. She was going to have to retrain herself to cook in volume.

“Did I not tell you so afore?” Rolf retorted, still disgruntled that she hadn’t stopped for more beer. “How’s a man to eat a meal without mead to wash it down?” He’d been grumbling throughout dinner. “Especially this spicy provender.”

“So, who told you that I wanted to hire a shipbuilder?” Meredith threw the question out nonchalantly, hoping to catch Rolf off guard, but she saw Mike and Thea raise their heads alertly, and immediately added, “Oh, never mind. You’re here now. I guess that’s the most important thing.” She would have to pick a better, more private time.

The phone rang then and Meredith went into the living room to pick it up. Her usually immaculate home was a shambles. Thea’s clothes were scattered about. A bag of microwave popcorn sat on the coffee table along with an assortment of CDs, not to mention an array of cosmetic products that would turn Mary Kay
purple. In the corner was a neatly stacked pile of Rolf’s new clothing, as well as his leather tunic and boots that she’d cleaned for him. Outside, the hideous, big-breasted female prow still lay on the patio.

Meredith groaned and picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hello.”

“Mer? You groaned. What’s wrong?” a female voice asked in a rush of concern.

It was her sister Jillian. “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Jillie. I’ve got a twelve-year-old girl here who should be with her mother. I’ve got a Viking longship to build before the end of the semester. I’ve got a master shipbuilder who thinks he’s a real Viking and who honest-to-God expects me to sit and watch
Home Improvement
on TV with him tonight. And, if that’s not enough, I’ve got to decide what the hell to do with my future once this project is completed.”

Jillie let out a long breath of relief. “Oh, is that all? I thought it was something serious.”

Meredith groaned again. “If this isn’t serious, what is?”

“I’ll tell you what’s serious, sister dear. It’s that sketch you sent me today of a medieval ornament.”

Meredith was instantly alert. She’d faxed the sketch today to Jillie, her brother, her parents, even a colleague at Columbia.

“I’ve spent the whole afternoon in the archives of a museum library. That belt clasp is magnificent! What materials are used? Oh, don’t even try to describe it to me. I’m coming back to the States. I’ve got to see this in person. We could have the breakthrough of a lifetime. As big as the Dead Sea Scrolls or King Tut’s tomb. Well, maybe not that stupendous. But we’re talking major fame here, hon.”

Meredith held the phone away from her face and stared at it, dumbstruck. Her sister was interrupting her museum work in London, not to come help her child, but to case out some ancient hunk of jewelry? And what was this
we
business?

“Are you listening to me, Mer?”

“Huh?” Apparently her sister had been jabbering away.

“I should be able to get away from here in two days. In the meantime, could you take photographs and wire them to me? Or more detailed sketches if photographs would make the guy suspicious. Whatever you do, don’t let that guy, or his belt, get away. Steal them if you have to.”

“Are you crazy?”

A dial tone was her only response.

Meredith glanced toward the kitchen where Thea was twittering gaily with Mike and Rolf as they stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned off the table. Thea’s mother hadn’t even asked to speak to her, or asked about her well-being.

She was blinking rapidly to prevent tears from brimming over in her eyes when Rolf walked toward her. Waving the two videotapes in her face, he said, “Stop looking so weepish, sweetling. We are going to learn all about power tools.” Meredith put her face in her hands, but not before Rolf added, “And I’ve got dessert.” Somewhere he’d found another bag of Oreos. Maybe they sold them in the hardware store. Thea and Mike followed with four glasses of milk.

Jeffrey would have a heart attack if he could see her eating junk food. He was a devout advocate of the “good nutrition feeds the brain” mantra. And junk TV was an even worse no-no. Unlike her parents, she and
Jeffrey had had a television in their home, but he would have put a block on any channel showing anything as lowbrow as Tim Allen.

Meredith cringed at that sudden, unwelcome memory, and then straightened with resolution. Starting right now, she was going to stop that creep Jeffrey from ruling her life. “Great!” she said, plopping down to the couch. “I can’t wait.” And she really meant it, too.

An hour later, though, Meredith’s stomach churned. And it wasn’t just the Oreos and milk on top of chili and sourdough biscuits. It was Rolf and the effect TV had on him. The Viking stared, transfixed, at the TV screen, howling with delight, along with Thea and Mike. Oh, Bob Vila had held his attention, but the
Home Improvement
klutz was the true hit.

“Look at this, Merry-Death. Tim is building a man’s toilet. It has a reclining La-Z-Boy seat and a footstool and a built-in stand for his mead and cigar. Is that not hilarious?”