12
Dvalinn opened the sack he'd brought with him from Iceland and spread its contents on the bald man's table. The valuables shone and glittered in the dusky light of the longhouse lamps. They were the last physical remnants of a lifetime of raiding: golden statuettes, ivory combs, gemstone jewellery, an assortment of foreign coins.
The bald man's eyes widened at the sight, bouncing from one object to the next, and his lower jaw fell, exposing small, yellow teeth and the pool of saliva that was gathering in his mouth. He was visibly starved for riches.
Even Agata stopped what she was doing and ogled.
"All of it?" the bald man asked, his voice so hoarse that he cleared his throat and repeated the question.
Dvalinn nodded. These things were of no more use to him. One couldn't eat gold or drink sapphires. "For as much food and supplies as will fit into my boat. Skins, leather, thread, rope, tools."
The saliva dripped from the bald man's mouth. He wiped it off his chin with his hand, with which he then picked up one of the statuettes to look it over. "Certainly," he said. "Oh, yes, certainly, we have a bargain."
"I need it delivered to my boat by morning," Dvalinn said.
"Personally," the bald man said, "on my very own back. Drudge will help as well, and even Agata. We'll all help carry your things to you. How's that for hospitality?" His voice went hoarse again. Again, he cleared his throat. "May I keep these beautiful treasures here tonight?"
" They are yours," Dvalinn said. There was no reason for the bald man to steal the valuables. He was already getting them for nearly nothing. And if he reneged on his promise to hand over the food and supplies, Dvalinn would have no trouble taking what was his. As for Drudge, the bald man was still blissfully ignorant of that particular issue.
"And where is it that you will be sailing?" the bald man asked, rubbing his palms together. Dvalinn had no doubt that he was maintaining conversation to be polite, in case Dvalinn decide against their deal because of some perceived slight.
"East, to the mainland," Dvalinn said.
The bald man put down the statuette and picked up a comb. Dvalinn noted the irony. Agata seemed to note it, too. Her smile was conspiratorial. These are good, simple people, Dvalinn thought. Nevertheless, there was no reason for them to know the truth. They might try to dissuade him, and he wasn't in the mood for an argument. "I have satisfied myself that my son is gone," he added. "It is time for me to return home. If we meet again, it will be in the afterlife."