Mikkel frowned, peering through the right window at the passing ruins. His gaze sharpened, and he consciously held still.
“What?” Sigrun asked, leaning across him to look out the window. Despite his efforts, she'd noticed his reaction. “You see something?”
“No, just looking around.”
Sigrun watched for several seconds, then shrugged and returned to her own study of the abandoned city.
Minutes later, Tuuri stopped the tank in a small parking lot in the middle of a former park, now a respectable forest. Sigrun beckoned Emil to gather their gear, and the two scavengers headed out to a library nearby.
Mikkel turned to Tuuri. “You two stay inside while I gather wood. If the clouds clear, you can come out when I return.”
The Finnish woman grinned. “Okay!” She hadn't argued about staying inside for a couple of weeks.
Mikkel waggled his eyebrows at her, knowing that when he returned, he would find her and Reynir in the radio compartment. With the door closed.
After bringing back several loads of wood, Mikkel took a careful look around before setting out, crowbar in hand and flashlight in pocket. The tank's tracks in ankle-high snow allowed him to trot through the park without leaving footprints, though on the other side, he could not avoid leaving a clear path to the shop. He could only hope that Sigrun didn't come this way.
Copenhagen had had many shops, but weather and vermin had taken their toll through decades of neglect, and he'd had no luck in the few he'd been able to visit in the past week. Still, this one looked good from the outside, its multi-paned windows intact, though coated with dust and grime.
The door opened at a hard push, his crowbar unneeded, for the proprietor had left it unlocked so long ago. Inside, he flashed his light around, checking floor, walls, and ceiling, while he listened intently and breathed deeply through his nose. With no sight, sound, or smell of grosslings, he moved to examine the shop's wares.
Fifteen minutes later, Mikkel returned to the tank, his loot hidden inside his jacket. Lalli was asleep, and Tuuri and Reynir were closeted in the radio compartment, giving him the opportunity to lift his thin mattress and conceal his treasures. That done, he returned to gathering wood, and when Sigrun and Emil returned, he was washing clothes as usual.
After supper, Sigrun led Tuuri to their map of the city and pointed out a large park as their next campsite.
****************
The next morning, Tuuri drove the tank to the new location, and Mikkel prepared porridge for breakfast outside as usual, the others taking their seats on folding chairs which Lalli had found for the team some weeks earlier.
“Blech. I'm sick of this slop. I'm going hunting today.” With these words, Sigrun dropped her bowl and got to her feet. Emil set his bowl on the ground by his chair and stood. “No, no, you stay here and rest that ankle,” she said. “It's a nice sunny day; I can do this alone.” He sat down with a relieved sigh, for he had twisted his ankle several days earlier and had been limping slightly ever since. Sigrun ducked into the tank for a few minutes before trotting away with her bow and a quiver of arrows.
Reynir stood and stretched, glancing at Tuuri, who gulped down the last of her porridge and got up as well. Mikkel folded his arms and watched with a smirk as the two made their way into the tank.
Emil rolled his eyes at Mikkel. “Not fooling anyone.”
“Ah, well, it means I don't have to argue to get them to go inside where it's safe.” He looked at Lalli, still working on his porridge. “You two can stand guard while I gather wood. Or go inside, if you like. Try not to disturb our lovebirds.” Emil snorted as Mikkel walked away to fetch his crowbar.
When Mikkel returned with his first load of wood, Lalli was alone, leaning against the tank with his rifle over his shoulder. He nodded to Mikkel's nod, and the Dane left for the next load. About an hour later, he returned to find the back of the tank open. Emil was inside, bending over the open crate of explosives.
“How are your pets doing? Well fed? Happy?” Mikkel asked. Emil checked his explosives and incendiaries so frequently that Mikkel had come to call them his pets.
Emil hunched his shoulders without looking around. “Yeah, they're fine.”
Mikkel chuckled and left for more wood.
Sigrun returned empty-handed for lunch. Stashing her rifle and bow in the tank, she helped set up the folding chairs. Mikkel knocked on the door of the radio compartment to tell Tuuri and Reynir that lunch was ready, chuckling at the resulting thumps and whispers. He expected Sigrun to complain about the vegetable stew; he supposed her silence was because of embarrassment at her own failure to bring back meat. After lunch, she set out with bow and arrows, vowing to come back with a deer.
Reynir helped Mikkel wash and put away the dishes, but then retreated to the radio compartment with Tuuri. Mikkel took out his washbasin and a heap of bedding and clothes. He thought of calling on Reynir to assist, but laundry was his own job, and Reynir was just a civilian passenger. The Icelander had helped him in every task he could, and perhaps he deserved a break. And anyway, who was Mikkel to interfere with the course of true love?
Emil was a good lad who couldn't sit idle while Mikkel was working. He scrubbed, rinsed, wrung out, and hung up the laundry by the Dane's side.
As they finished up, Mikkel assumed his most evil grin. “So you were malingering. Now I have blackmail material.”
Emil turned pale, looked down at his ankle and back at Mikkel. “No, no, no. I wasn't. I did twist it, really I did, and it hurt. Um, yesterday. It's just today that it, it feels better. I just needed some time to myself, that's all. Mikkel, please, please, please don't tell Sigrun! I'll do anything!”
“Of course you will. That's what blackmail means.” He understood Emil's needing some time away from Sigrun; she could be quite wearing. The younger man was so easy to tease, his desperation so genuine, that Mikkel felt guilty, as if he were taunting a child. Still, he couldn't condone malingering … or could he? Though all members of the expedition were military (or former military in his own case), they didn't belong to the same military, and the expedition was not under any specific military command.
Without losing his evil grin, Mikkel tapped his chin. “Let's see. I've already got you building fires and digging latrines —”
“And helping with laundry!”
“And helping with laundry. Now, what other unpleasant jobs can I make you do?”
As Emil stared at him in fear, a movement in the ruins caught their eyes, and both turned, their conversation forgotten.
Sigrun strutted even with a gutted, cleaned doe dangling from a stick over her shoulder. Mikkel hurried to take the stick from her, knocking it against her rifle as he did so.
“Hey, careful! Thanks! It's not heavy, but it's a pain to carry by myself. I'm for sure taking Goldie with me next time.”
“He should be healed up by the time we need more meat.” He thought he could feel Emil staring at his back, and gave him a reassuring smile as he turned towards the tank. Sigrun missed the by-play, trotting ahead to clean up as Mikkel laid the deer down and went to fetch his butchering tools. They would have venison stew for supper.
****************
For breakfast the next morning, Mikkel prepared venison “bacon”: thin strips of venison fried in tallow. He cooked inside, murmuring that the morning was rather cold. They ate with gusto, and he continued to slice and cook until everyone sat back, replete.
Regarding the team with a slight smile, he cleared his throat to get their attention. “Today is the solstice. Starting tomorrow, the days will grow longer again.” There was a stir among the others, and several smiled. “We Danes have a tradition on this day.” He turned, lifted his mattress, and pulled out his prizes. “We give out presents.”
He began with Tuuri, handing her a warm, long-sleeve tee-shirt, an electric blue with a figure of a young woman in hiking gear with a rifle and a dagger, in an active position before a ruined pyramid. She accepted it, squealed with glee, and flung her arms around him for a moment before sitting down and hugging it to herself.
To Lalli, he presented a similar warm, long-sleeve tee-shirt, this one black with a large silver moon, against which a large cat was silhouetted. The scout examined it, folded it neatly, and set it beside him, turning to speak to Tuuri. “He says, thank you very much.”
Mikkel smiled at the Finns before turning to hand Emil a similar shirt, black with orange, yellow, and red flames rising from the hem. The Swede held it up, looking at him with a mixture of pleasure, gratitude, and confusion. “Thank you, Mikkel,” he said after a moment.
Mikkel nodded to him and held out a shirt to Sigrun. This one was a deep green, with a female warrior in the middle. She wore a highly impractical metal costume, providing no protection against attackers or even cold, and held up an axe in one hand and a spear in the other. Long, thick, red hair swept out behind her as if in a strong wind. Below the figure were the words, “Red Sonja”. Sigrun grinned in delight, showing it around to the others before thanking him. He found himself disappointed — just a little disappointed — that she didn't give him a grateful hug.
The last shirt was for Reynir: a black shirt with a cartoon sheep. The sheep's body was a lumpy white circle, its legs like short sticks, and its face gray with enormous white eyes. Reynir laughed delightedly at the sight, joined by the others as he held it up for admiration.
“So, that is our custom,” Mikkel said, reaching for his locker, but Sigrun stepped in front of him, opening her own locker.
“We have the same custom.” She took out a rifle and held it up. It was no rifle that the sponsors had provided, its receiver bearing an intricate gold and silver inlaid filigree showing a gold cat in a forest scene. After showing it to everyone, she presented it to Tuuri. “A warrior's spirit deserves a warrior's weapon.”
Tuuri accepted it, stunned. Holding it with the barrel pointed at the ceiling, she examined the filigree for a long moment before leaning it against the wall and covering her eyes with both hands. “Thank you,” she managed at last. “I'm — I don't — I'm —”
“I know you'll use it well.” Sigrun took out a second rifle, this with a floral relief engraving on the receiver. She handed this one to a surprised Reynir. “Your girlfriend can train you on this.” He looked at Tuuri for a translation, but she had not yet pulled herself together. Mikkel decided he didn't need to translate.
Sigrun pulled out a bone-handled dagger in a silver-inlaid sheath and held it out to Emil. “That dagger the sponsors gave you is junk. This one's the most best dagger I could find.” Emil took the dagger and drew it to show a shimmering pattern of banding and mottling like flowing water. He gave Sigrun an awed look as he thanked her before removing his former dagger from his belt and replacing it with the new one.
Sigrun handed a similar dagger to Lalli, who had been watching with interest and accepted it with a rare, fleeting smile. Finally, she turned to Mikkel and held out a third such dagger. “I don't want my medic fighting trolls, but if you do have to fight a troll, this dagger's lots better than that thing you have.”
Mikkel accepted the dagger, studying her face as he spoke. “Thank you. But — where did these come from? How did you smuggle these rifles past us all?”
Sigrun grinned proudly. “There was a museum near our last campsite. That's where I got them. I really did go hunting, but I went out twice with a bow and came back with a bow and a rifle. I covered the shiny stuff, and nobody noticed they were different, not even you.” Mikkel pretended to write a mark on the air, acknowledging her win, and her grin widened.
Behind them, Lalli jumped to his feet, said something to Tuuri, pulled on his boots, and darted out the door. “Tuuri?” Sigrun said. “Is there a troll or something?”
“No.” Tuuri still looked a bit stunned. “We have this custom too. He's getting his gifts from the back.”
They waited, admiring each other's new shirts and weapons, until Lalli returned with a sack. He pulled out a box, which he glanced at and passed to Reynir, then another for Emil, then Tuuri, Mikkel, and Sigrun. When each held a box, they opened them to find that each had received a pair of pre-Rash ankle-high slippers resembling dark leather with fur lining. They pulled on the slippers with pleasure, for they wore socks inside the tank, and the floor could be quite cold. It surprised no one that the slippers fit perfectly; one came to expect that sort of thing from Lalli.
After translating thanks from everyone, Tuuri glanced expectantly at Reynir, and the two started to get to their feet before Emil announced “My turn.” They sat back down with identical shrugs.
Like Lalli, Emil put on his boots and went outside, soon returning with a stack of explosives boxes. He set these down, examined a scrawl on the top one, and passed it to Sigrun. Within was a tortoiseshell hand mirror, with matching brush and comb. He watched anxiously as she held them up to examine, and relaxed visibly as she turned to smile at him.
“I know you have things already, but these are so much prettier and —” Mikkel winced at his words, willing him to stop before he jammed his entire foot in his mouth. Emil caught his expression and stumbled to a halt.
“Pretty cool, little Viking,” Sigrun said, apparently missing the implied insult.
Emil bit his lip and handed the next box to Tuuri. When she opened it to reveal a mirror with the back inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a matching brush, and a comb, he glanced at Sigrun, then back at Tuuri, and said, “There was only one set like that, and the mother-of-pearl reminded me of your hair.”
“Oh, these are so pretty! Thank you so much!” Tuuri hugged him before sitting down to tilt the mirror back and forth, watching the light play on the mother-of-pearl.
Lalli, Reynir, and Mikkel each received a tortoiseshell mirror and matching brush, comb, shaving brush, and cutthroat razor. Since Reynir had arrived with no shaving equipment, and had been using Mikkel's, which was old and battered, they both vocally appreciated their gifts. Lalli looked over at Emil and told him, “Okay.”
When the thanks were over, Tuuri turned to Reynir, and the two got to their feet and hurried into the radio compartment. Mikkel looked at Sigrun, who snickered and whispered, “Do we go on without them?”
Before he could answer, the two reappeared, carrying in their arms four light gray woolen sweaters, which they passed out with broad smiles. Lalli's bore a black stylized cat's head on the back, while Sigrun's had a pattern of white snowflakes around the wrists, neck, and waist. Emil's sweater had a similar pattern of red snowflakes, and Mikkel's bore a ring of triangular trees around the upper chest.
Sigrun stared at the sweaters. “That's what you were doing in there? You were knitting?”
Mikkel laughed at her scandalized tone, joined by Tuuri and Reynir, then the others. After a moment, even Sigrun was laughing. When laughter subsided to chuckles and giggles, Mikkel opened his locker.
Lalli's best trait, in Mikkel's opinion, was that he didn't argue or ask questions when asked to find things. Request crystal wine glasses, and he'd find you crystal wine glasses without complaint. Mikkel pushed aside the breakfast plates, set out six wine glasses, and poured his bottle of century-old wine. He had intended to use it to celebrate their return, but who knew when that would be?
Mikkel stood and raised his glass, facing the Sun that shone through the windshield. “To the Sun!”
“To the Sun!” all replied, and they drank.
Mikkel sat down and Sigrun stood. After looking over her team with a fond smile, she raised her glass and shouted, “To us!”
“To us!”
