‘It won't be…’
‘…that bad.’ It seemed the twins had simultaneously found clean, and not even creased, shirts. ‘All we need to do is station…’
‘…a few level-headed…’
‘…warriors at the end…’
‘…of the quay and tell the rest…’
‘.…to keep their distance.’
‘Sounds simple enough.’ Bragi sighed, glancing sidelong at Kari and Leif. ‘Just tell me, who among us is composed enough not to react to the Imperials’ taunts?’
‘Well, that could be a problem.’ Einar sat down next to his eldest brother and looked with slight disapproval at the twins’ clothes strewn across the floor. ‘I don’t think I know anyone who wouldn’t be itching for a fight the moment they’re insulted.’
‘Well, perhaps Gest....’
‘… would he be suitable?’ Kari and Leif grinned cheerfully, as if they’d just solved all the world’s problems.
‘I think you’re thinking about solving a different problem,’ Einar muttered.
‘Come on….’
'... stop being a spoilsport.’ The twins stood behind Toinen and leaned on his shoulders.
‘This time we’re taking you with us,’ they added in unison.
Bragi merely threw up his hands, whilst a look appeared on Surt’s face that made it abundantly clear he would not save his younger brother from the twins’ clutches. Einar's rescue, however, came in the form of a knock at the door heralding Gudrid’s arrival. The woman merely gave the boys a stern look and pointed towards the corridor.
‘You mustn’t be late for dinner,’ she said as they meekly walked past her.
They hurried down to the dining room and, as it turned out, were the last to arrive. The rest of the household and the guests were already seated at the table, and a deathly silence hung over the room. Father, seated at the head of the table, wore a stony mask, his expression frozen in concealed anger. Mother remained diplomatically silent, but her ominous aura did nothing to lift the mood. The legate seemed sulky, but, compelled by circumstances, he was presumably trying to be pleasant.
Captain Svenson was doing his utmost to divert everyone’s attention and was feigning good humour by
