Finding Her Vikings Read online

  I nodded. “I get that, but what can I do to help? I’ve never even been in the archive. I don’t know how things work.”

  “Don’t they teach you anything nowadays?” He scoffed. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

  I hid a smile. I was going to see the archive after all.

  ᚴᛅᛒᛁᛏᚢᛚᛁ 2

  The archive was big. Massive. Supersize. It filled the entire floor of the building, with shelves and racks as far as the eye could see. There had to be hundreds of shelves spread across the room in neat rows, disappearing into the darkness at the other end of the hall. The ceilings were low compared to the ones of the upper floors, but still higher than they’d been in our flat back home.

  “Follow me, quickly,” the Archivist said, once again hurrying away. Was he always in such a rush? I didn’t think a few minutes more would make a difference in finding the ring.

  I sighed and hastened to catch up with him.

  “This corridor passes the archive in chronological order,” he explained. “Here we have the most recent past, while the artefacts at the very end are all the way from the Neolithic period. Not that many people can travel there. A handful at most, everyone else would die trying to attempt a jump that far.”

  I swallowed hard. I hadn’t realised it was that difficult to time travel into the past.

  “Each row is then sorted by location. To the very left is Europe, then North and South America, and to the right are Australia, Africa and Asia. You’ll see that while we have thousands of artefacts for the recent past, they will get more sparse the further we walk away from the entrance. Not all items from the past are suitable for time travel. They have to have a meaning, an emotional connection to its former owners. Jewellery and personal belongings work best, especially because they’re small and easily carried during porting.”

  “How do you know if an item had an emotional connection?” I asked. “I mean, a ring we find now could have just been made by a blacksmith and not been used yet.”

  He nodded. “Good question. That’s where I come in. I don’t just look after our artefacts. I grade them, sort them, make sure they’re suitable for time travel.”

  “How?”

  “That’s not for you to know,” he replied with slight hostility. “Just trust me that all items in this collection are safe to use to travel in time.”

  “And we can just come and request one? Like a library?”

  He chuckled. “Not if you mean ‘we’ to include you. No Hummingbirds are allowed to port, and Nightingales can only do it under supervision. You’ll have to pass your Seagull tests before you can use the archive, and even then you’ll have to submit to my opinion of you.”

  “Submit?” I muttered before I could stop myself. I didn’t add how arrogant that sounded to me. How dominant. This guy was filled with self-importance. No wonder he worked alone down here.

  “This is my archive. I make the decisions here.” His tone was defensive, as if he’d had this conversation many times before. He pointed at the row we were passing. “This is the early nineteenth century. Not many people will travel much further than that.”

  “I’m in the fast track class,” I blurted.

  He stopped and looked at me curiously. “I didn’t know we had one this year. How many of you are there?”

  “Three.”

  “What do they teach you? What time period?”

  My eyes widened slightly. Was it a coincidence? “Vikings. We’re studying Vikings.”

  From his expression, I gathered that he didn’t believe it to be a coincidence either.

  “Every fast track class is assigned a different period,” he said quietly. “That way, we can train experts in whatever area we’re currently not having enough agents. Last year, it was medieval Europe, the year before the American Wars of Independence. For you to be assigned Vikings... that’s further back than what’s usually taught at Academy level. Anything earlier than the thirteenth century is normally studied after graduating from TTA. This is highly unusual.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe they’ve changed the curriculum?”

  “They must have, but why? Vikings are interesting, but they’re not important to any of the current Academy research. I’ve not heard of any new Time Agency missions that concern Norse culture either.” He sighed. “More questions yet again. I shall have to make some enquiries. But here we are. The Viking section.”

  He turned left along a row of high shelves packed with metal boxes, probably to protect the artefacts. In some of the earlier rows, things had been in cardboard boxes and glass cabinets, but here everything looked much more secure. No wonder if what he’d said was true. Time travel to this period sounded dangerous. I was slowly realising how special that made our class. Just because we hadn’t puked when we’d first ported. That seemed a strange criterion to go by. What if we simply had stronger stomachs? What if we were going to die on our first attempt to travel this far into the past?

  “Why are none of the shelves labelled?” I asked as I hurried after him.

  “To prevent people from taking things they shouldn’t,” he replied. “I know every single item in the archive. It’s an extra layer of protection.”

  “But what if something was to happen to you?”

  He turned around so suddenly that I bumped into him. He grabbed my arms and stared down at me. “Is that a threat?”

  I looked at him in surprise. “No, just a question. If you’re the only one who knows the archive, wouldn’t that make it difficult if you fell ill or something?”

  His grip softened a little, but he didn’t let go of me. “I don’t get ill,” he said quietly. “It’s one of the many perks of being the Archivist.”

  "Everyone gets ill."

  He shook his head. "Not me. There are things you don't understand and I don't have the time to explain. Nor do I want to. You should be honoured that I've shown you the archive in the first place."

  I bit back a heated reply that it had been him who'd asked for my help. He was a strange person, clearly antisocial and rude. Luckily, he finally stepped back, releasing his grip on my arms. We continued moving along the row of shelves.

  "Why should I help you?" I asked defiantly. "I have homework and studying to do. What do I get out of it?"

  He stared at me, his eyes filled with anger. "Seriously? Did you just ask if I'm going to pay you?"

  "No, I didn't," I muttered, suddenly regretting my burst of overconfidence. "I just mean that I don't have much time. My schedule is packed and we only have Sundays off."

  "What's more important, your studies or saving lives?"

  I frowned at him. "How would finding a ring save lives?"

  "If someone who's not trained uses that ring to time travel, they'll most likely die. Ergo, retrieving the ring will save the thief's life."

  I found that a little far-fetched, but he was right in a way. Besides, it would be exciting, certainly more exciting than homework. But I was already struggling with keeping up with all my assignments, and this would only make it harder.

  The Archivist sighed. "Tell you what, if you manage to help me find the thief, I'll help you with your homework. What you really need to graduate isn't what you find in books. It's first-hand experience. Learning by doing."

  "You mean, I can learn to time travel with you?" I quickly closed my mouth when I realised I was openly gaping at him.

  He chuckled. "No. That would be highly irregular, and besides, you need a lot more training before you can even learn to port from one place to another without even changing time zones. "What I can give you is the theoretical knowledge. The skill of how to choose the perfect artefact that's best suited to your intended journey. Most people have to figure that out by trial and error. I will be able to give you that information in exchange for your help."

  I nodded. "Deal. How can I help?"

  He stopped and turned to a shelf to our right. It was full of small metal boxes, many of them stacked into small towers. If he really k
new every single artefact in this giant archive, this man had to have the brain of an elephant. I doubted I could even learn all the items in this row by heart, and those were just a tiny fraction of the complete collection. Crazy.

  "This is where we store the Academy's Viking jewellery," he explained. "There's everything from necklaces to hairpins. The latter are particularly popular amongst female time agents, since they can be used both as a weapon, a lock pick and as jewellery.

  My hair would never accept a hairpin. It was too thin, too slippery to even stay put in a rubber band.

  He took a tiny box from the shelf and opened it. As expected, it was empty.

  "That's where the ring was kept," he said, sadly eyeing the red velvet lining inside. "I discovered it was missing today, but it could have been stolen days ago. It was returned last week and I hadn't checked on it since then."

  "What about fingerprints?" I suggested. "Are there cameras in here?"

  He scoffed. "I already tried that. No fingerprints, they must have been wearing gloves. And we don't have cameras in the archive. This place is too important to have it on film."

  I didn't quite get that argument, but I wasn't about to start arguing with him again. The way he looked at the empty box showed me that this was more to him than just a job. He took this theft personal.

  "What now?" I asked. "How do I help?"

  "Nobody knows that you're aware of the ring. Since you've not even been given a tour of the archive, the thief won't pay attention to you. If I went upstairs and started asking questions, the thief would know and make it even harder for me to find him."

  "Or her," I interjected.

  He sighed. "Or her. The ring was large though, so if the thief wants to wear it, they need to have large hands. It's more likely that it was a man. A woman may have chosen a smaller ring from our collection."

  He closed the box and carefully put it back in its place.

  "I need you to ask questions, make enquiries. Since you've been assigned Vikings, pretend it's for some research you're doing. As I said before, I doubt a student has stolen it, the ring would be of little use to them. It has to have been a teacher or a time agent. Or a student with a dangerous level of overconfidence."

  I mulled this over in my head. "I can't just go to teachers and ask them whether they know of a specific ring," I said doubtfully. "Do you have a picture of it? So that if someone wears it, I can at least recognise it?"

  The Archivist nodded. "Let's go back to my office. I'll show you the ring's file."

  I followed him, now used to the speed in which he walked.

  "Have you thought about scooters?" I asked when we were halfway through the large hall.

  "Huh?"

  "Scooters, or a segway, to make it faster to get to where you need to be. This room is so big."

  He chuckled. "Nobody has ever complained about that before, but people rarely enter the archive themselves. Usually, they put in a request in advance and I get the artefact for them, and I enjoy walking through the archive."

  He suddenly stopped and turned around. I barely managed not to bump into him.

  "Can't you feel the call of history?" he asked, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. "All the lives lived, the emotions felt while crafting these artefacts, the pull of wanting to explore the past?"

  His passion was evident and I envied him for it. To me, this was a fascinating place, but I couldn't have been able to talk about feeling a pull or call without lying. Maybe that was because I hadn't travelled in time yet. It still felt like a dream to me, one that I was worried I might wake up from. Time travel wasn't something that ordinary people like me did. If I allowed myself to feel the same level of enthusiasm as the Archivist exhibited, then the pain of disappointment would be even greater.

  His smile disappeared when I didn't answer immediately and he turned around with a sound of frustration.

  "Of course you don't," he muttered and continued walking. Somehow, I regretted not telling him what he wanted to hear. It felt like I'd missed an opportunity to show him that I was worthy of his attention. But why did I even want that? Why did I want his praise? Why did I want to please him? I shoved away those thoughts. I was tired, that made me emotional and needy. This man was not someone I should get attached to. He was rude, demanding and, most importantly, not a fellow student. I already had questionable feelings about Hjalmar, that was bad enough.

  Maybe I was getting my period. That would explain why I suddenly kept seeing hot men around me. Like the Archivist. Not that he was hot. Just different. Exotic. Exciting. Unusual.

  I hastened my steps, trying to get rid of those thoughts. They were entirely inappropriate.

  Just when we reached the metal door leading out of the archive, the morning bell rang. It sounded muted down here, nowhere near as shrill as it did in our bedrooms.

  "I should go and get breakfast," I muttered when we entered his office.

  He nodded, not meeting my gaze. Again, I had the distinct impression that I'd disappointed him.

  "Let me show you the ring first," he said and took a tablet from a desk drawer. He switched it on using a fingerprint sensor, then turned slightly so that I couldn't see what he was doing.

  It was almost reassuring that he did use some kind of technology. When I hadn't seen a computer earlier, I'd assumed that this archive was stuck in the past somehow. Having a record of the archive in electronic form made it a little easier to believe his claim that he knew every artefact in the collection.

  "Here it is." He swiped his fingers over the screen and a hologram formed above it, showing a beautiful golden ring. It had heavy signs of use, with scratches all over, but what made me step closer were the marks carved on the inside and outside of the ring.

  "What do they mean?" I asked, staring at them in wonder. They were tiny, delicate; I doubted anything bigger than a needle could have created them.

  "Nobody knows," the Archivist replied. I felt his gaze on me, but I didn't look up, keeping my eyes focused on the ring. "They look like runes, but they're nothing like the ones we know about. Maybe it was a secret language the creator or the owner of this ring used. Maybe it was just a strange way to decorate it. We don't know."

  "Have you shown it to Hjalmar? He might know."

  "Hjalmar?" he asked with a chuckle. "The Viking? Sounds like you haven't heard about his past yet, or you wouldn't talk about him in such a familiar way."

  I met his eyes, staring at him defiantly. "I've heard the rumours, but I don't believe what they say. He's not a murderer."

  The Archivist started laughing. "Oh dear, that he certainly is. He was known as the Red Sword in the old days. One of the finest warriors of his time. He killed for a living, so I'm pretty sure that makes him a murderer."

  I glared at him, but there was truth to his argument. If Hjalmar really had been a warrior. He did have the physique for it, but maybe all Vikings had abs like his.

  The bell rang for a second time.

  "I have to go," I said quickly before he could tell me any more things about Hjalmar that I didn't want to hear. "I'll tell you if I find something."

  "I'll be waiting," the Archivist said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear. There was a certain sadness to his words, as if he was used to waiting. To being alone down here in the archive.

  Well, once I'd found the ring, he was going to help me with my studies. That might make him less lonely. I smiled at the thought, before remembering that he was a grumpy prick.

  ᚴᛅᛒᛁᛏᚢᛚᛁ 3

  I barely tasted breakfast, and my first lesson in Time Travel Law passed without me making a single note. To be honest, I wasn’t really interested in this, especially after the teacher had actually said in last week’s lesson that common sense and morals prevailed in most cases. But still... I had planned to be a good student to get the grades I needed. It was hopeless though. My head was full of the Archivist, his ashen eyes, the impossible mission he’d given me.

  Instead of listening to my t
eacher drone on about medieval law and punishments – basically, whatever you did was punishable by death – I made a plan of how to solve the mystery of the stolen ring. My first task was going to be talking to Hjalmar. While I knew there were other Viking experts and teachers, he was the only one I’d had a proper conversation with.

  I rubbed the palms of my hands with my thumbs, remembering his gentle touch. A blush heated my cheeks. I shouldn’t savour this memory. It was wrong, so wrong. I should stay away from Hjalmar before this strange attraction got me in trouble – but that was impossible. He was my teacher, I was going to see him at least three times a week in lessons.

  Maybe I should just go to him and ask him outright about the ring. I doubted he could have been the thief, and he might have some leads for me. He knew the other TTA Viking agents.

  But did I really know him well enough to discard him as the thief? He had a clear distaste for rules, that much was clear after attending his lessons. He refused to stick to the curriculum, instead deciding to teach what he thought was most important to keep us alive during missions. I didn’t have a problem with that in the slightest. Staying alive sounded like a good idea.

  “Lainie, what do you think of the Iron Maiden as a punishment?”

  Miss Long’s voice almost made me jump.

  “Ehm... terribly inhumane?” I stuttered, just about remembering the strange metal sarcophagus I’d seen in a museum, where poor buggers would be gruesomely stabbed to death.

  “Since you’re obviously too busy to listen to my lesson, I want you to write a two-thousand-word essay about how the Iron Maiden was a Victorian invention. By tomorrow.”

  I groaned internally. As if I didn’t have enough to do already. It had only taken a week for me to get extra assignments. Damn it. I should never have agreed to help the Archivist. It wasn’t going to be good for my studies.