“Are these guys hard to understand?”
“A little.”
“Think you can get the story from them? Find out if they’ll give us a tow to land?”
“I’ll try.” He turned to the Norsemen again and shouted, “Will you tow us to land?”
Again the sailors reacted to Neil’s voice. Another man joined the bearded blond in the prow. He was short and muscular, with an enormous barrel chest covered with black, curly hair. He stood close to the blond man who, Neil suspected, was captain of the ship. They held a hurried consultation, and then the captain shouted back across the water, in Swedish, in a booming voice, “We are lost, and do not know where there is land. Are you not from these waters?”
Neil turned to Dave and said, “They’re lost too. They think we’re from these parts.”
“What?” Dave asked. He scratched his head in puzzlement. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. For a minute there, I thought we’d traveled clear across the Atlantic.” He shook his head and added, “Maybe we are in the Gulf of Mexico, after all. But what are Norsemen doing here? Ask them how they got here, will you?”
“How do you happen to be in these waters?” Neil yelled.
“A storm blew us off course,” the Norseman answered. “We lost nine members of our crew. We have no idea where we are.”
Neil translated, and Dave said, “Find out more.”
“Where are you from?”
“From the Northland. And you?”
“From a land unknown to you.”
“Then how do you speak our tongue?” the Norseman asked.
“My father knows your tongue well.”
“Is this one with you your father?”
“No. This is a friend, Dave Saunders.”
Dave looked up at mention of his name. “What’s going on?” he asked, a puzzled frown stretching across his brow.
“Dave Saunders?” the Norseman asked.
“This is the name he is called,” Neil explained.
“And yours?”
“Neil.”
“My,” Dave remarked. “This is getting to be a regular tea party.”
“I am Erik!” the Norseman said proudly. “Son of Johan the Black, and captain of this vessel.”
“I’m glad to know you,” Neil called politely.
“Ask them if we may come aboard,” Dave said, beginning to get somewhat impatient with all the talk.
“May we come aboard?” Neil shouted to Erik.
The muttering among the sailors grew louder, and Neil saw the short man with the hairy chest shake his head violently and wave his ax in the air.
“What’s biting Shorty?” Dave asked.
“I don’t know,” Neil admitted.
Erik listened to the short man and then called over to Neil, “My crew say your ship is cursed, that you are evil.”
“Our ship is strange to you because it is unlike yours. All the ships in our land are like this one,” Neil lied.
The short, hairy man standing next to Erik shouted, “I am Olaf, son of Lars the shipmaker, and second in command on this vessel. Bring your ship closer that we may examine it.”
“There’s Shorty hopping up and down again,” Dave said. “What’s he want now?”
“They think we’re cursed because of the machine. They want to have a closer look at it.”
“Tell them we’re damaged, and they should come to us. I’ll cover with the rifle.”
Neil cleared his throat and shouted, in Swedish, “Our ship is crippled. We cannot move it. You can row closer if you like.”
Erik listened to Olaf for a minute, and then ordered his crew to row the Norse ship closer to the machine. Several men manned the oars, and the big ship moved nearer. Neil could see the sharpness of the axes as they gleamed in the sun. He could also see the drawn, wary looks on the faces of the sailors. Bearded and dirty, they were, and Neil wondered if it was wise to bring them within striking distance.
The ship drew alongside, and one of the seamen threw a line over. Dave dropped the line into the machine, the heavy wooden chock on its end clunking against the plastic.
Now that Erik was closer, Neil studied his face carefully. He was deeply burned from the sun and the wind, and two clear blue eyes gleamed brightly in his face. His nose was straight and a little on the long side. His beard was a fiery blond that covered his chin, his upper lip, and most of his neck. He had shaggy blond eyebrows, and they were lifted now in speculation.
“We need food,” he said simply. “Do you carry any?”
“Not much,” Neil lied. The expedition had taken enough food to last approximately two weeks. They had expected to live on what they found in Yucatan. Erik’s crew consisted of at least twenty-five hungry men, if not more. They could go through the time machine’s stores in less than five minutes.
“They are evil,” Olaf shouted. “I warn you, Captain, they are evil.”
“Be silent,” Erik ordered, and Olaf clamped his jaws shut, a dull anger smoldering in his eyes. Erik turned to Neil. “Can you lead us to land? We need food and water before we can attempt to reach home.”
Neil turned to Dave. “They want to know if we can lead them to land. What shall I tell them?”
“What tongue do they speak now?” Olaf demanded. “They are evil and they speak the tongue of the Devil.”
“I speak in the tongue of my friend,” Neil answered in Swedish. Then, in English, “What shall I tell them, Dave?”