The captain lounged nonchalantly on her sumptuous divan, ostensibly indifferent to the rolling of the ship around her and only occasionally glancing up from her knitting to the massive but securely bound form forced into a supine pose before her. She very much enjoyed the arrogant Dane’s discomfiture, which was increased by the sword lying lightly on his neck, but she did not enjoy it enough to forgo his execution if he failed to deliver the night’s tale.
Eventually, the time came for the captain to break the silence. “So, Madsen,” she almost purred, “what sort of tale do you have for me this evening?”
Mikkel Madsen was not a man who was easily discomfited, and even less likely to show any discomfiture that he felt, so his voice was only slightly roughened when he responded…
*
Reynir ibn Arni ibn Ragnar ibn Arni ibn Reynir had roamed a good portion of the world with his caravans, but now, he was beginning to feel the urge to settle down and perhaps take a wife and start a family. It was in this frame of mind that he met Tuuri in the Golden City of Copenhagen, Queen of the Sea.
Tuuri was everything Reynir wanted in a wife: short, plump, cuddly, bursting with energy and up for any adventure—even the adventure of settling in the barren wastes of Jutland. Tuuri, for her part, let it be known that a young, tall, redheaded master of caravans might have a chance at her hand, if he tried for it.
So they were wed, and they prospered, even though neither was immune. One part of their continued safety and prosperity was that they were great friends with the local garrison, which was led by the illustrious Captain Sigrun and her right-hand viking, Emil the Cleanser. Another part was that they brought out two of Tuuri’s relations to help: her rather cowardly brother Onni and her brave cousin Lalli.
Lalli could afford to be brave, for he was immune, and a cunning scout besides; he helped out the local garrison quite a bit in his spare time. Onni was a coward to the bone, though he was a powerful mage; and rightly so, for he, like Tuuri and Reynir, was not immune.
In those days, a terrible band of cutthroats terrorized the lands all around the area Captain Sigrun held responsibility over; she claimed they never raided her area because they were more afraid of her doughty warriors than any others, which might have been the case. Nevertheless, the feared General Trond and Admiral Olsen came to her garrison to ensure that her warriors weren’t re-enacting the raiding ways their ancestors had lived by.
It was around this time that Reynir took one of his flocks out to a safe pasture—and was nearly caught by the cutthroats. He had barely enough time to hide among the sheep when they seemed to pop out of the very ground itself.
“Shut Trillebor!” Reynir heard a horrid voice snap, but a moment later, a murmur of discontent arose, and the same voice barked out, “Open Trillebor!”
The flat ground rose up into a hill with a cave open on one side like a giant maw. After a few moments of the cutthroats moving in and out, the voice finally rose again to command, “Shut Trillebor!” And the ground was flat again.
Reynir waited among the sheep for a good long time before he rose and went over to where the hill had sprung from the ground. Hesitantly, he called out, “Open Trillebor!”
The hill appeared, and Reynir went into the cave, which held all the loot from the robberies and more, so Reynir knew that he should let the local garrison know about it; but first he told Onni, who saw an opportunity to enrich himself with little risk. Onni ventured forth to the place Reynir had told him the cave would appear, and went inside, but he lingered too long.
The horrible head of the forty-strong band of cutthroats who called themselves the Ghost Thieves, a fiend known only as “Sleipnope”, boldly approached the patch where the cave would appear. “Open Trillebor!”
Onni was horrified to see the cave open without another word from him, and further horrified to see the Ghost Thieves all ready for battle. Before he could get off so much as a single spell, Sleipnope had struck Onni’s head from his shoulders.
“Men!” Sleipnope addressed his band. “We are discovered by these locals! We must disguise ourselves, gain access to their compound, and slaughter them all in the night!”
The cutthroats each climbed into an oil jar, and Sleipnope, now in merchant garb, loaded them into a huge flatbed with a few full oil jars; so it was that they went to the home of Reynir and Tuuri. All might have gone as they desired if only Tuuri hadn’t needed some oil.
Tuuri came to the first oil jar and thrust the ladle into it. “No need for rough stuff, Captain,” the cutthroat within murmured.
Tuuri kept her cool, whispering, “Not yet, but be ready.” She tested every jar thus, before going to get a surprise for them.
So all the ghost thieves were drowned one by one in boiling oil, save for their leader, who was taken by a vengeful Lalli and brought before Captain Sigrun, General Trond, and Admiral Olsen. All the loot was returned to its rightful owners, except a few pieces whose owners could not be found, which were awarded to Reynir and Tuuri.
*
The captain was silent for a long time after Mikkel had finished speaking; but before her hench-beast bearing the sword had quite decided that his mistress willed Mikkel’s death at long last, she finally spoke. “Well done, Madsen. You have earned another night’s reprieve; be sure that tomorrow night’s tale is as good, or face the consequences.” She picked her knitting back up. “Away with him.”
Mikkel’s bound form was lifted in strong arms and carried back to his cell…
