Bracelet of Bones by Kevin Crossley-Holland Read Free Book Online

treasure.”
    “Pff!”
    Threads of Red Ottar’s saliva glistened in his red-gold beard; some sprayed his companions.
    “Hear that, Slothi? Turpin’s brought us a treasure.”
    Slothi uncoiled himself and smiled a twisted smile.
    “A treasure,” the skipper repeated, treasuring the very word. “Since when, Turpin, have you done anything but fleece me with your stinking fleeces?”
    Two of the men laughed, and a gat-toothed woman clapped her hands.
    Solveig looked at them. Red Ottar and the pretty young woman with glistening dark brown hair, sitting at his feet; two middle-aged women; a girl and a boy, both much the same age as Blubba; and four other men, one with a black tooth, but one much younger, tall and dark-haired, who gazed intently at her with smiling eyes.
    “Nothing for nothing,” Red Ottar said. “Go on, then, Turpin. What treasure?”
    Turpin simply turned his head toward Solveig and opened the palm of his right hand.
    And the Baltic traders, they all looked at her. Ten pairs of eyes, unblinking.
    “Nothing for nothing,” Red Ottar said thoughtfully. “What do you want of me?”
    “She can carve,” Turpin told him. He shrugged off his shoulder bag, loosened the leather tie, and opened it. “Just look at these. These pins, this platter with runes around it.”
    Red Ottar sniffed. Then he put his right forefinger to one nostril and shot snot out of the other.
    “She’s come with us from Trondheim.”
    Red Ottar took a step toward Solveig and stood right in front of her.
    “On the run, are you?”
    Solveig shook her head.
    “Too many beatings?”
    Solveig flinched, but she gazed straight into Red Ottar’s eyes and didn’t blink.
    “Or worse,” said Red Ottar. “Put your carving knife into someone, did you?”
    “No,” said Solveig, much louder than she meant to.
    “She’s looking for passage,” Turpin said. “Safe passage. She’ll pay with her carvings.”
    “Hear that, Bruni?” Red Ottar said. “An assistant for you.”
    Red Ottar looked up at Solveig. She was almost a head taller than he was.
    “Why?” he barked. “Why, then?”
    “I’m following my father,” Solveig replied. She opened her eyes wide.
    The skipper grimaced and shook his head. “Alone?”
    Solveig nodded.
    “And where in the world is he?”
    “Miklagard.” Solveig paused. “I think he is.”
    “Miklagard,” Red Ottar repeated. “I see . . . Hear that, everyone? Miklagard.”
    “A shining city for a shining girl,” said the handsome young man.
    “Never at a loss for words, are you, Vigot?” said Red Ottar.
    Vigot gave Solveig a crafty smile. “Not on your own, surely?”
    Red Ottar slapped his thighs, and then he threw back his head and laughed in Solveig’s face. All the traders scoffed and jeered.
    Red Ottar jabbed his forefinger into Solveig’s neck. “This . . . this girl . . . what did you say your name is?”
    “I didn’t,” Solveig replied.
    “Go on, then,” said Red Ottar.
    Solveig never took her eyes off Red Ottar, not for one moment. “Nothing for nothing,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice clear and steady.
    Hearing this, several of the traders began to laugh.
    And the skipper, Red Ottar, he laughed at himself.
    “Your father . . .” he said.
    “Halfdan,” Solveig replied.
    “Never trust a Dane,” Red Ottar said. “Not even half a Dane.”
    “Halfdan?” repeated an older man with very bright blue eyes. He frowned.
    “Well, Torsten?” Red Ottar asked him.
    “Yes,” said the man. “Yes. On my last passage to Ladoga . . . Halfdan.”
    Solveig could feel cold waves rippling up her spine, spreading across the broad of her back, stiffening her neck.
    “Last September,” the man added. “Big man. Clumsy. He had a limp.”
    Solveig realized her breath had grown jerky. She felt her eyeballs burning.
    Then the gat-toothed woman took a step forward and waved a scaly red hand in Solveig’s face. “I say no,” she announced.
    “Nobody asked