The Man Behind the Mask

A wry smile curved Brit’s mouth. “Fitzhead?”

I beamed. “That’s it. That’s what he said.” Then I frowned. “What does it mean?”

“Let me put it this way, you don’t call a Gullandrian a fitzhead unless you’re in a fight or planning on starting one.”

“Big-time insult, huh?”

She nodded. “And that’s all? All any of them said?” “Yeah, I think so…” I was feeling sheepish, wishing there was more to tell.

Brit grabbed me close again and hugged me some more. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with this,” she whispered against my hair.

I hugged her back. “I’m okay, really.” And then I pulled back so I could look at her. “But why?” I demanded. “Why would someone want to kidnap you? For ransom, you think?”

Eric spoke then. “We’ll question the intruders as soon as they regain consciousness.” It was a brush-off, no matter how gently he said it. “We’ll get some answers, never fear.” Uh-huh. Answers no one would be sharing with me. He added, “And now, I think it’s best if you wait in another room of the suite. There’ll be a few more questions for you when Hauk arrives.”

Brit grabbed my hand. “Come on, Dulce. Let’s see if we can find your robe and slippers in this mess.…”

Brit led me down the hall to a small sitting room and waited with me for Hauk to come. It took a while. We sat on a velvet settee and listened to the sounds of booted feet going in and out of the suite. I tried two or three times to talk to her about what had happened back there in her room. But she was evasive. She’d say, “Let’s just wait till Hauk comes,” or, “Dulce, we don’t really know much of anything yet.” When I asked her about the man in the leather mask, she only shook her head and said she couldn’t say more about him.

Finally, about half an hour after we entered the sitting room, Hauk Wyborn came to talk to me.

He filled the doorway. Literally. Elli’s husband was about six-eight. I swear to you, he looked like a Marvel comics superhero come to life. Massively muscular, with shoulder-length blond hair. And when I say muscular, I mean as in Hulk Hogan, as in Schwarzenegger during his bodybuilding days.

Brit left us. I told Hauk what I knew. Gravely he thanked me. “There may be more questions later,” he warned. “And may I take this opportunity to tender His Majesty’s deepest regrets for what has happened here tonight?”

“Well, sure,” I said, feeling there was probably some proper response to that. But not being Gullandrian, I didn’t know what it was. “And, uh, thank you for…everything.”

He bowed his big blond head. “I am more than gratified to be of service.” He looked at me again, piercingly, without the slightest trace of a smile. “And may the wise eye of Odin be upon you.”

Was that a good thing, to have the wise eye of Odin “upon you”? I supposed it must be. He didn’t say it as if it was a threat or anything. And what should I say now? He just didn’t come across as a small-talk kind of guy.

A tap on the door saved me from having to figure out my next conversational gambit. It was Brit, fully dressed in gray slacks, black shoes and a funnel-neck sweater. “Finished?”

Hauk saluted, fist to chest. “Yes, Your Highness. The interview is concluded.”

He left us. Once I knew he was out of earshot, I remarked, “He’s your sister’s husband, and he calls you Your Highness?”

She shrugged. “It’s a matter of form, that’s all.”

“But is he always so…”

She knew the word I wanted. “Reserved? Well, sometimes, when Elli’s around, he’ll lighten up a little.”

“Fun guy to have at a party, huh?”

“Hauk’s a soldier, through and through. He’d never have become the king’s warrior if he weren’t. The training is killing. And I mean literally. Men have died trying to prove themselves worthy of the job. And Hauk’s not only good at his job, he’s…spectacular. A great warrior. The people adore him—and you should see him fight.”

“Uh. No, thanks.”

“Come on. I don’t mean a real fight.”

“Oh. There’s another kind?”

She nodded. “In the warm months, my father puts on a series of fairs down in the parkland below the palace. At the fairs, Gullandrian men come from all over the country to fight staged battles in the old, wild Viking manner. Hauk inevitably wins the day—and I can see by the look in those big eyes of yours. You’ve got a thousand questions.”

“At least.”

“Sorry, but right now I need to get you back to your own rooms.”

I was not thrilled to hear that; I had the feeling she was going to drop me off there. After what I’d been through that night I didn’t relish the thought of being alone—at least not while it was still dark outside.

However, my friend was not my baby-sitter. “Good idea.” I tried valiantly to appear more enthusiastic than I felt.

“I’m afraid we can’t go back the way we came. Hauk’s men have taken over the secret passageways.” She was frowning at my yellow chenille robe, at all the hugely smiling SpongeBobs peeking out from under it. “Do you want to change before we hit the main hallways?”

“Into what? Something of yours?” Brit was about three inches taller than I was—and thinner, too. How much thinner? Hah. Like I’d tell you that. “And really,” I added, pouring on the perky, “you don’t have to go with me. I can find my own way back.”

She waved a hand. “I’m not leaving you to stumble around the hallways by yourself.”

“Stumble? Who says I would stumble?”

She sighed. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“Choose another one.”

“Oh, stop. You know what I mean. And as far as something for you to wear, I’ll just—”

I was shaking my head. “Look. It’s so late, it’s early. I doubt we’ll run into anyone. And who’s gonna care what I’m wearing, anyway?”

Well, I was half-right. Nobody seemed to care that I was not properly dressed. But we did run into people. A number of them.

When we left the suite, I expected to see the men the soldiers had dragged out, sitting propped against the wall on the floor, their hands behind them, still tied with lamp cord. I was picturing sullen, threatening glances and muttered Gullandrian obscenities.

But the prisoners were nowhere in sight. There were, however, soldiers all up and down the hallway. We saw a bunch more every time we turned a corner.

And some of the guests were stirring, poking sleep-rumpled heads through slits in doorways, squinting against the light from the ornate wall sconces, asking, “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

Brit gave them regal smiles and a few reassuring words and we moved on by. We saw more soldiers, and several housemaids and an old prince who, for some unknown reason, was up and about, all gotten up in a tweed suit, complete with vest curving over his considerable paunch and a weighty veil of gold chains looping extravagantly from his watch pocket.

“Your Highness.” He bowed in the Gullandrian way. “Schemes of the Trickster, what goes? All this commotion has ruined my sleep.”

Brit told him there was nothing to worry about. “Please, Prince Sigurd. Back to your rooms. All is safe now, I promise you.”

Muttering under his breath, the old prince did as she instructed.

Around the next turn, another prince was waiting, this one young and slim, with pale hair combed back from a high forehead. He was also fully dressed, but not in tweeds. Armani, maybe? Or Dolce and Gabbana? He frowned when he saw us coming, then quickly bowed.

“Prince Onund,” Brit said when we reached him. “What are you doing up?”