The Angel Wore Fangs(51)
Andrea was wearing Viking attire, too, after bathing in the steam house last night. A long, pale blue gown, called a gunna, minus the apron, which she’d left behind in the kitchen.
Cnut noticed her looking at him and motioned with his fingertips for her to come join him. Finn had just vacated the chair on one side of him. She hesitated, then walked over.
He watched her through slitted eyes as she approached. “I want to thank you for all your help while I was gone. Girda tells me you have worked hard and given her ideas for better ways to use what we have. Though she did have some complaints about an excess of soup.”
“Soup is the poor man’s caviar.”
“Whoever said that has never eaten caviar.”
“Or maybe whoever coined that phrase knew that a good soup makes a wonderful meal.”
He motioned with a forefinger in the air as if giving her a point. “You’re looking very Viking-ish today.” He gave her a full-body survey before she sat down.
“So are you. Very Chris Hemsworth Thor-ish.”
“I had to borrow clothing from Thorkel. My old garments are twice my size now.”
Glancing downward, she said, “I’m not totally Viking-ish.” She still wore cowboy boots, there being no extra Viking shoes for her.
“Actually, it’s rather a nice mix of old and modern,” Cnut observed. “Cowgirl Viking vintage. The only thing missing is the cowboy hat.”
She smiled and sat down beside him. “Someone confiscated my hat. I think it was Girda. It might be her sun hat come next summer.”
“I’d like to see that!”
That possibility filled her with alarm. “We won’t be here that long, will we?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “By the way, I have news for you. Good news.” He pulled his cell phone out of a leather placket hanging from his belt. “While we were hunting, up high on the mountain, I noticed that I had an e-mail message.”
“What? Give me that? I didn’t know you had a cell phone. Let me call my father, or someone who can help us . . .” Her words petered off as she realized she didn’t know anyone who could aid them in reverse time travel. In fact, all the people she knew hadn’t even been born yet, and wouldn’t be for hundreds and hundreds of years. Aaarrgh!
Cnut held the phone out of reach and said, “It would do you no good to try. Obviously, there is no reception here.”
“Then how did you get an e-mail message? And who was it from?”
“It must have been sent before our time travel was completed. It’s from Vikar.” He noticed that they were drawing attention. She’d like to see how he explained cell phones, or even plastic, to Dark Age people. So he handed her the phone. “Look. You can read it.”
Andrea could tell right off that there was little battery life left on the cell phone, but she pressed a few buttons in order to read the most recent message. It came from Vikar@hotvangels.com:
Lucies overrunning ranch. Out of here. For now. Cecilia Stewart rescued. Where the hell are you?
Tears filled her eyes.
“What? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am. I mean, I’m relieved, somewhat, but I’m not sure what ‘rescued’ means. Does it mean she’s injured but out of ISIS hands? Or she’s uninjured but still in ISIS hands? Or she escaped the demon thingees, but is still at large?”
“I think you’re overthinking this.”
“I need to see Celie for myself, Cnut. Can we go back now that there’s food for your people?”
He shook his head. “The hunts were good, but that’s not nearly enough to last through the winter. I have a hundred and twenty or so people here at Hoggstead to feed, and another fifty in the village.”
“It seems odd that you have more people living up here in the castle than you do in the village and farms.”
“Not so odd. This is just the winter occupation. During spring and summer and early autumn, the blacksmith, weavers, and various workers move into outbuildings. It’s too difficult to heat them all during deep winter.”
She nodded hesitantly. He still hadn’t answered her question about going back to the future.
“To answer your question, no, we do not have enough food or supplies yet. Soon we’ll be snowbound until the spring thaw. There will be no opportunity then for hunting or anything else.”
“That’s what Girda said. A month at most is what she predicts before the food is gone, even with rationing. Is that possible?”
“Probable.”
“How could this happen? Not the famine, but the shortage. Why didn’t they plan ahead?”
“Not they. Me,” he told her. “I could have prevented the dire circumstance Hoggstead is in now, or at least forestalled the worst by letting loose of some of my hoarded coins and treasures to buy goods where there is no famine. There was time. But I am a selfish glutton. I ate, nay, gorged myself while others starved. I cared more for my wealth than for those under my shield. My appetites rule me.”