The Quest for Valhalla

Chapter 4

Fort Kinnaird was its usual bustling self when Nina entered Clarks for a pair of sandals she had been coveting for some weeks now. She simply could not get Dave to let her come back early without some sexual bribery and a promise to wait with her plans to embark on a new independent career until he returned to Edinburgh. It had started raining and she could feel her soles slipping as she sped toward the door and quite literally fell into the doorway.

The assistant, who had a chipped name tag and an awkward smile, helped Nina in, taking care not to let her stumble over the hidden stand near the door.

“Easy now, Ma’am,” the lady chuckled as she gripped the small woman’s arm securely and kept her upright. Nina howled with laughter, more from a bit of embarrassment than anything else. She soon found her footing and acted as her professional attire would have dictated had it not been showering outside. Her hair hung over her shoulders and scalloped on her back, darkened by the wetness and left rather unkempt. Her beauty, however, made up for the messy hair and she quickly made her way to the shelves where the shoes were that she had come for.

On her way to the wall of designer shoes where the delicate flats beckoned, Nina was still trying to compose herself from the surprise drenching she got outside.

With all her might, she controlled her welling temper tantrum and she had a good mind to just drop everything to the floor, tying up her hair and then, one by one, collecting her stuff at her leisure. Wiping her hair back profusely, clutching her bag under her arm, she resisted the urge to meet her reflection in the full length mirror she passed.

Finally, she composed herself well enough to walk with a bit more poise, swearing under her breath. As she took the shoe from the shelf to check the size, a peculiar looking woman to her right caught her eye. She was dressed in slightly worn leather pants and a similar jacket. A lot of ladies in the store were staring, but not for the same reason. They seemed taken aback by her resting Mohawk hairstyle, shaved at the sides and draping to a straight point in the vicinity of her tailbone. Nina smiled. Always enjoying the unorthodox, she reveled in the glares falling on the unsuspecting woman who was bent in half on the small stool, fitting the latest Orinocco sash boots the store offered. She looked up briefly to see how the boots looked in the mirror and noticed the whispering women behind her. Nina was amused and waited to see what she would do.

Instead of feeling self-conscious, the woman stared them each down in the mirror, prompting each in turn to quickly look away. Then she simply continued her fitting as if there was nobody else in the store. It made Nina nod to herself in satisfaction. She enjoyed people who dared to be themselves in this day and age of sheep and bleeding heart cowards. Something else even more particular caught Nina’s attention. The leather clad woman was wearing some distinguished jewelry. One of the rings on her left hand reminded the petite historian of a piece she once saw in a Helsinki museum, cast in an antique bronze method apparently used by early Icelandic and Finnish smiths. Around her neck, the stranger wore something equally astonishing. It resembled a Viking piece she had helped a colleague procure a few years back from a hoard discovered in Dumfries in the early 19th Century.

“The Lochar Moss Torc?” she whispered to herself, forgetting about the shopping bag she placed at her feet when she pulled the shoes from the rack. It was an exact replica, the composition of which was frighteningly precise in design and texture. Trying her best to look inconspicuous, Nina moved gradually around the front of the lady’s seat, pretending to look at other shoes. In the mirror’s reflection she tried to scrutinize the piece.

She held her breath at the uncanny appearance of the neck ring. The brass cast collar was crescent-shaped and engraved with La Tène patterns. The second part was a series of hollow beads upon it, which convinced Nina that it had to be a knock-off. A very good one at that, but a fake nonetheless. The original, which was on display at the British Museum, had one of the beads missing, unlike this one which was complete. Still, Nina could not shake the curiosity of such expert craftsmanship.

But she had a date with Professor Herman Lockhart, a local rare book dealer who had a way of finding the most untraceable collections for the right price. She was bound to meet him at Costa Coffee in WH Smith within the next 10 minutes, or she would lose her investment, and perhaps his trust. Since Nina’s last life-threatening ordeal in the company of Purdue and her best friend, Sam Cleave, she had made a conscious decision to change her career path to something a bit more discerning, a bit more deserving of her expertise without having to compromise her integrity. She was done with being a subordinate achiever under the insidious oppression of older male academics who wished her to fail. Now she was working as a consultant for Museums, international documentary television productions, and the odd collector of artifacts pertaining to recent history. She enjoyed the freedom that came with it, less stress, and the fact that she didn’t have to prove herself to those who disrespected her. Being by Purdue’s side did not mar her success either, but that was just an additional incentive. With his generosity, she had managed to establish herself as an independent professional with various study fields available to her. Things were running smoothly for a change, but she never tempted fate or took anything for granted, especially when she knew why she had agreed to become involved with Purdue in the first place.

Nina paid for her sandals and rushed to get to the coffee shop before Herman arrived. As she passed the shops on her way, ducking to stay out of the downpour, she noticed that someone was trailing her quite briskly. Nina dared not turn to look, but she noticed the figure move almost simultaneously with her in the reflections of the shop windows.

‘What the fuck is your problem?’ was her first response; as always, in a defensive mode. By now, given the hellish situations and terrain she had survived before, it was not surprising that her reactions were combative in nature. Then again, this was Dr. Nina Gould, PhD in Bitchery and Professor of Insults 101 with a MA in Fuck You. It worried her that someone would follow her even in the worsening weather, but she knew she would make it to Costa before her follower caught up with her. In there, among people and security personnel, she could safely determine what her pursuer wanted from her. There was no harm in being careful.

When she entered the coffee shop premises, the small firecracker turned immediately, ready for a fight. But she was faced with none other than the leather clad punk chick from Clarks and it snapped her words right back into her throat before she could utter anything.

“Jesus, but you can move, love!” the woman panted, her eccentric hair sticking to her face and neck from the drench she was dealt while following Nina. “Your bag. You left your bag in Clarks.”

“Oh my god, I’m such an idiot! I’m so sorry,” Nina gasped, half amused and fully embarrassed. Her hand shot up to her mouth and her wide brown eyes pinned the smiling stranger’s.

“Here,” the lady said finally and handed Nina the shopping bag. “I’ve had my workout for the day now.”

“I feel terrible. I thought you were a… I thought…” Nina stuttered with an awkward smirk.

“It’s alright, love,” the lady laughed, “I’m used to being confused with a delinquent. Or a rapist.”

Nina raised an eyebrow, and then realized that her new acquaintance had a sense of humor. She burst out laughing, her eye catching the fascinating neck ring again as she chuckled with the woman.

“Nina Gould. Pleased to meet you, dear bag rescuer.” Nina reached out her hand and was rewarded with a warm smile and a swift handshake from the leather clad vixen.

“Val Joutsen,” the woman replied with a courteous nod.

Nina liked her straight away. Val was clearly a humorous and charming individual. Her haunting blue eyes narrowed with laugh lines as she smiled. Nina guessed her at about 48 years of age and noticed that Val was quite beautiful. A flawless skin and luscious lips gave her the effect of some well-groomed rock star from a magazine. Apart from heavy black eyeliner and shadow on her eyes, she wore little more make-up and she was surprisingly void of piercings, as her image would normally require.

“Val, let me buy you a Cappuccino for your torments. I insist,” Nina said, hoping that Herman would run late or get discouraged by the weather.

“I don’t want to impose. You were clearly in a hell of a rush here,” the perceptive Mrs. Joutsen noted.

“Yes, I was, but now that we are here, why not? Come, have a seat. I simply have to know where you got that magnificent piece around your neck,” Nina said as they sat down at a booth in the corner. She did her best to sound as nonchalant and empty headed as possible about her observation. But at once, Val looked surprised that the petite brunette was taken by her jewelry. Her fingertips lingered over the brass crescent as she grew quiet.

“Did I say something wrong?” Nina played up her denseness a bit to make Val feel more at ease.

“No, love. It’s just that I did not think you even saw it under all these layers of shirt collar and jacket leather,” she smiled shyly. “It’s an old family heirloom.”

“It is remarkable. Is it old?” Nina asked. Val gave her a look that teetered on disbelief, but fell back to amusement.

“Yes, Nina. It is old. Probably older than your great-great-grandparents, I’d say.”

“You have a slight accent. Scandinavian?” Nina kept trying to play dumb while she pried shamelessly.

“Oh, there is quite a culmination of cultures in these veins,” Val giggled. “Icelandic, Finnish and some German — suffered high school in Cardiff. But I have travelled extensively, so I just call myself a world citizen.”

“I like that,” Nina replied. ‘Or should that be ‘Germanic’?’ she thought in amused excitement. There was something enthralling about Val, but she could not place it. All she knew was that she had to know about the brass neck ring. “Are you in Scotland for the Highland Games, then?”

“Oh, yes, we went to have a look when we drove through. We were going to check out the Cowal Gathering like we did a few years ago, but we were too far this year. We caught the Inverness festivities and I tell you, it was…” she seemed to think on her words, “…amusing. Very interesting how such tough sports come to being, right?”

“I have always refrained from attempting any of that crazy crap,” Nina laughed, “I just go to see the dancing.”

“Of course! With that dainty figure you’d first be used as a tossing object than a participant!” Val chuckled heartily as their coffee arrived. “I thought most Scots preferred tea.”

“Normally, I suppose. Sometimes, I just like a strong cup of coffee to keep me on my toes,” Nina smiled, making sure Val would not notice her scrutiny of the brass piece. In truth, she was carefully investigating the detail of it so that she could later reference it in her book, ‘Viking Hoards and Discoveries from Scotland’.

“Is that man here for you, perhaps? Because if he is not, he is a creepier stalker than I was earlier,” Val remarked suddenly, gazing over Nina’s shoulder to where an old man was impatiently eyeing her. Nina turned.

“Oh shit, it’s Herman,” she said, and raised her hand to hail him. But the reclusive scholar and collector was not one for joining company and he nodded nervously, waiting for Nina to come to him instead.

“Am I in his seat?” Val asked, wiping her hair back.

“No, not at all. He is just a bit shy,” Nina smiled, but she was anxious not to lose him either. “Val, please excuse me for a second?”

“Of course, love.”

Nina gestured apologetically as she rushed over to him.

“Professor Lockhart! So good of you to meet me here,” she said. He looked downright disturbed by the situation, clutching his brown satchel anxiously.

“Who is that? A biker?” he asked without peeling his eyes from Val, who sipped her coffee self-consciously at the strange man’s glaring.

“Um, she is just a friend. Would you like to join us?” Nina coaxed.

“No, thank you,” he said hastily, his tone declaring a distinct distrust in the seated stranger. “I will just give you your book. You will notice it has no ISBN, for good reason. I received the funds alright and all, so I am just delivering it to you.”

Nina frowned at his behavior. Professor Lockhart was usually a bit eccentric and uncomfortable with other people, but he was acting especially restless, so she decided not to press him. Before he gave her the book, his eyes darted between the book and Nina’s eyes, then to Val and back to the book.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Professor?” Nina asked impatiently.

“Read the book, Dr. Gould,” he said firmly, and with a glance back at her as he started leaving, he added, “And mind the company you keep.”

Nina could not believe his erratic comment. Given his expertise and his own idiosyncratic ways, she would have thought him more tolerant of unusual looking people.

“He looked pissed off,” was Val’s first remark when Nina sat down with her antique book.

“Nah, he is like that, old grump. He asked if you are a biker,” Nina laughed and drank down her cold coffee.

“Did you tell him I am a Hell’s Angel?” Val snickered. “Because I am a biker, you know? I ride a Harley and I break beer bottles over the heads of innocent bar patrons in Swedish Black Metal clubs.”

The two women had a good laugh at that. Nina kept her eye on Val’s antique neck piece. However, she did not notice that Val checked out the title of her rare, banned book on ancient reliquaries in turn.