37. Magical Mystery Tour
"Not so fast, children," Irene Scurr demanded as Adam and Beatrice skipped excitedly in front of their parents, their exuberance unhampered by the overcast, windy morning. They were nearing the waterfront plaza that adjoined the causeway leading to Arendelle's castle. "You need to mind where you're going. Other people aren't expecting you to come charging around the corner." The children slowed as their mother bade them, but it seemed to almost pain them to do it.
"And there's no point in arriving too soon," John added. "The tour starts at ten, not when we get there."
"Do you think we'll get to see Olaf?" Adam asked, doing his best to keep his speed in check they approahched the causeway.
"I honestly don't know," John said.
"Do you think we'll get to see Princess Anna or Snow Queen Elsa?" Beatrice asked. During the family's breakfast, her parents had explained to her what Princess Anna had done with the Queen's cake at yesterday's dinner, and while she had to agree that the Princess was in the wrong but the misdeed was relatively minor, she would still feel less worried about the Princess' future if she knew what the punishment was.
"I doubt we'll see the Queen, my dear. She's meeting with Miss Duffin this morning to talk about magic. And yesterday, the Princess implied that she isn't exactly an early riser, so Her Highness may be at breakfast while we're looking around," John told her.
"Will you get to talk with Snow Queen Elsa about magic, papa?" Beatrice queried.
"Yes, on Thursday at the magic lab," John replied. "We'll be studying Her Majesty's powers and using them to investigate the laws of nature and properties of substances."
"Can we come, too?" Adam asked hopefully. He was having a hard time restraining himself now that they were on the causeway. The flat bridge invited sprinting.
"I would have to ask the other participants what they think," John hedged. "This is serious research, not entertainment. It might be a bit boring for you."
"How could magic ever be boring?" Adam laughed.
"When there are various boring grown-ups asking the Queen to cool down various liquid solutions or samples of hot metal alloys at various rates or taking her body temperature while she creates and annihilates various amounts of snow," John illustrated patiently. "Sometimes science doesn't exactly get your heart racing, but we won't learn much that's new by playing on slides and swings."
"Oh," Adam said, somewhat crestfallen.
"Which isn't to say that science can't be fun and fascinating, especially when magic gets thrown into the mix," John encouraged. "Queen Elsa's special abilities allow for all sorts interesting experiments that currently can't be performed without her help."
"We'd be quiet and stay out of the way. We could bring a few books and read during the boring parts," Adam proposed. The courtyard's outer gates were a few strides ahead.
"Yes, you could, but I still need to ask my fellow researchers how they feel about having children in attendance," John said firmly.
"And ask the mother how she feels about having her offspring around potentially dangerous experiments," Irene chipped in.
"Yes, that too, of course," John readily concurred, glad for the reinforcement.
Adam didn't press the issue further, mainly because he knew it was useless when his parents presented a united front, but also partially because they had reached the gate to the courtyard. Now was the time to be on his best behavior.
The guard smiled at them. "Going to the castle tour?" he asked amiably.
"Yes, sir," Irene said.
The guard pointed to the line of people in front of one of the castle's entrances. "You buy your tickets over there. Two skillings for adults, one skilling for children," he informed them.
John consulted Irene. "How are the funds holding up, O keeper of the purse strings?"
"Just fine. We should also have enough for a lunch at a restaurant," Irene assessed, "provided we don't succumb to the lure of souvenirs, if any are for sale." They strolled over to the line.
"All right, Beatrice, Adam, keep that in mind before you ask for any knickknacks," John spelled it out for the children, and gave his wife an appreciative smile for that bit of tactical planning. The boy and girl nodded eagerly.
Ahead of them were a dozen or so tourists, all of them shuffling forward as tickets were purchased and people were admitted to the castle. While they were waiting, they noticed what looked like a maintenance crew poring over the castle's foundation and the lowest tier of windows.
"I guess there's a fair amount of upkeep involved with a centuries-old building perched on a pile of boulders in tidal water," Irene said.
"Fancy meeting you here," came Prof. Sinibaldo's voice from behind them. He was accompanied by Prof. Newark.
"We've come to see how the other half lives. It's amazing how some people can endure such appalling conditions," John joked.
"Yes, no wonder they're asking for a charitable contribution," Newark wisecracked, jingling his skilling coins in his hand.
"Here come some more donors," Sinibaldo observed dryly as Father Papadopoulos and Mr. Homberg ambled toward the line.
"Good morning, everybody," the priest said brightly. Homberg looked decidedly groggy and merely waved a greeting.
"Let me guess: You stayed up most of the night looking through the telescope, waiting for breaks in the clouds," John surmised with a grin as they all took a few steps forward.
"Oh, no. I stayed up most of the night looking through the microscope," Homberg corrected. "It does indeed match the telescope's quality, possibly even exceeds it. I definitely need to get Queen Elsa a card of thanks. Those optics are beyond price."
"Yes, all of us made out like bandits last night," Newark remarked, slightly smiling.
"Speaking of all of us, we seem to be missing the Mandelbaums and Mr. Kowalczyk," Papadopoulos noted. "It's almost ten o'clock. I'm surprised they're not here already."
"They may have stopped at the bank," Irene suggested.
A family of regular tourists joined the queue. They all nodded a polite greeting and took another few steps forward. The Scurrs were nearing the front of the line.
Irene shot a quick look back at the outer gate, but there was no sign of the Mandelbaums. Another few steps, and she met the sentry standing next to one of the castle's doors. He was older than the other guards she had seen, not quite as old as Admiral Sverdrup, but he was certainly a senior officer in Arendelle's ranks, and she was fairly positive she had seen him at the state dinner yesterday evening.
"Good morning, ma'am. Two adults and two children?" he asked, visually inspecting her family.
"Yes, sir," she answered, feeling sure that his expert eye was looking for any odd shape in their clothing or shifty mannerisms.
"Six skillings, please," he said genially enough for a man whose job was to be suspicious of the visitors. She passed him the coins, and he distributed four tickets to them. "Please keep those with you for the duration of the tour. We also ask that you bring no weapons, tools, food, drinks, other liquids, chewing gum, pencils, pens, or similar items past this point."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," Irene vouched.
"Thank you, ma'am. Enjoy the tour." He gestured toward the door, and just another few steps forward carried them inside.
Irene smothered a giggle, because the Mandelbaums and young Kowalczyk were already in the front foyer, which was adorned with tapestries, paintings -one of which was a portrait of Queen Elsa, her platinum blonde hair up in a bun, wearing a formal dress with a black top, teal skirt and matching suede gloves, and a lengthy purple cape of felted wool- and a selection of ice sculptures, along with the fine architectural ornaments of the castle's woodwork and a cheery fire crackling in the hearth to counteract the damp chill outside.
Eliasz and Waclaw, who hadn't yet been to the Royal Gift Shop or viewed the courtyard walls up close, were utterly mesmerized by the ice. Adam and Beatrice quickly turned to the Queen's artwork, as well. Two guards kept a watch on the customers as they milled about the room and took in the decor.
"How long have you been here?" Irene asked softly as she sidled up to Debora and Zlata, who were looking at a tapestry that was assuredly an antiquity. It depicted sequences from an obviously great war in the past, with melees on ships, skirmishes atop precipices, spearmen standing shoulder to shoulder blocking a narrow mountain pass as archers -some of whom were women and children- shot from behind and above the phalanx at the invading army, and the ending was a very striking storm of ice and snow wrecking a fleet of longships against the rock walls of the fjord and the survivors surrendering.
"Oh, probably about twenty minutes. I didn't know how long the line would be, or if there was a maximum number of people allowed per tour," Debora said sheepishly.
"At least you've had something to keep you occupied," John said, examining a sizeable and detailed sculpture of people ice skating in the castle's courtyard.
In short order, Sinibaldo, Newark, Papadopoulos, and Homberg filed in. The Myrcian and the Lombard gaped at the Queen's handiwork. They gathered around the one that had the focus of the Polish men: a scene of fishermen pulling their net back aboard their boat, with a backdrop of a sheer cliff face - and hovering gulls.
Sinibaldo tentatively poked his index finger between one of the birds and the cliff.
"That's right. The birds aren't attached to anything," Eliasz confirmed. "Just like the merry-go-rounds yesterday. Or how she floated the samples of ice-fabric that had her dress' pattern on it at the reception."
"And you can't budge them out of position, no matter how hard you tug, even though they're tiny," Waclaw said.
"So she can passively sustain an arrangement that involves antigravity, probably indefinitely. The potential practical uses are mind-boggling, although this artistic application makes for a wonderful conversation piece," Sinibaldo pronounced.
"This one isn't bad, either," Homberg said, scrutinizing a sculpture of an eagle coming in for a landing on a rocky outcrop, its legs thrust forward and mighty wings upswept at an angle to decelerate. The Prussian played his hand between the bird of prey and the escarpment to demonstrate the lack of hidden supports.
"Let's be honest, none of 'em are bad," quipped one of the other tourists - an Irishman judging from the brogue that accented his Disnee. "Although I don't know why she's made so many of that mountain."
"It might be a top request at the gift shop," Debora posited.
"Is that the Ice Palace?" asked one of the children from the family that had been last in line. They were Dutch, if the boy's inflection was anything to go by.
"Yes," said Papadopoulos. "And reportedly to scale."
Newark appraised the sculpture and shook his head as he chuckled. "Then it's somewhere between one hundred and two hundred meters tall." The laypeople gasped. "While that sounds impressive -and it certainly would be for a normal building constructed out of normal materials by normal techniques- it isn't for Her Majesty's capabilities," he elucidated. "It's just the Snow Queen's version of a modest mountain chalet."
"Well, maybe she could build me her version of a humble cottage if she ever travels to Limerick," the Irishman bantered. "Couldn't be any colder and draftier than the one I have now."
A few of the other tourists snickered, but everyone quickly fell silent when the senior guard strode in from outside, followed by Princess Anna's good friend, Stefanie. The Scurr family, Debora, Zlata, Waclaw, Homberg, and Papadopoulos all waved to her, and she responded in kind. The guard shut the door behind him and motioned everyone's attention to Stefanie.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Stefanie Rask, and I'll be your guide this morning; Captain Grimsen, Lieutenant Vollan, and Sergeant Holt will also be helping us," the young woman said. "Since this is a working castle and royal residence, please respect the staff, other guests, and family possessions."
They all nodded in unison. Many of the parents in the group took a moment to whisper directives in their children's ears. Eliasz also gave Debora an imploring look, while Zlata and Waclaw pretended to be unaffiliated with the older Poles, and this time Irene could not fully contain a chortle, earning her a cautionary nudge from John and curious eyes from her children. The rest of the researchers ducked their heads to keep the giddiness from spreading. The senior guard, Captain Grimsen, was already staring at them, and he did not look amused.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, please stick together, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask," instructed Lieutenant Vollan.
"Let's begin with a decisive period in our history: the war to preserve Arendelle's sovereignty, as commemorated in the tapestry of King Egil I's saga, which dates from the early tenth century," Stefanie said as she lead the guests over to the embroidered linen. "Before the Viking era, this part of the Scandinavian peninsula was comprised of many petty kingdoms, and there was a constant struggle for dominance among the nations. Vestfold, a realm on the western side of is now called Kristiania Fjord was founded by migrants from the Southern Isles, and over the generations, their kings brought most of the region under their rule by right of inheritance through strategic marriages or by military conquests. But Arendelle and Thelir, our inland neighbor to the northeast, allied to resist their ambitions. We fought on and off for many decades to keep our independence."
The tour group took turns getting up-close looks at the battle sequences. "It would appear that a winter gale played a crucial role," Newark observed.
"Yes, sir. After several petty kingdoms on the coast were subjugated, including Grenland, our neighbor to the east, and Mandelle, our neighbor to the west, we were boxed in. Vestfold's Harald, who already styled himself King of Norway, launched a large assault against us during our harvest time, in hopes of catching us unawares and short-handed, or at least weakening us by reducing our food supply for the winter. But an early-season storm capsized his ships or drove them against the rocks; we captured King Harald and the few other warriors who were spared by the sea," Stefanie related. "In the backcountry, many of the land-side attackers perished in the sudden blizzard, or were forced to retreat or turn themselves in. We were then able to secure an end to the hostilities."
"How unbelievably lucky," Newark said dryly, as the crowd buzzed with astonishment.
"Indeed, sir. It was seen as the will of the gods that Arendelle and Thelir would not and should not be vanquished, and King Harald swore a great oath that Norway would never again take up arms against us 'until the Agðir Mountains shall fall,' " Stefanie explained. "But of course, King Harald's desire for a peaceful ending probably also had something to do with literally having the sword of King Egil at his throat and the spear point of King Glúmr of Thelir at his heart, as well as having lost much of his army and warships. He was going to have enough trouble retaining the parts of Norway he already had annexed without trying further to subdue us."
Grimsen, Vollan, and Holt smiled impishly. Although the story was almost one thousand years old and well-known to every Arendellian, there was still something satisfying about the comeuppance, no matter how many times they heard it.
"This King Harald wasn't put to death?" Eliasz asked incredulously.
"No, sir. According to the saga, King Egil and King Harald were cousins of some close degree via Harald's Mandellian bloodline, and King Egil considered it wrong to kill a kinsman, even one who was trying to take his crown, unless there was no other option. He did, however, hold a few of the belligerent nobles as long-term hostages, in case Norway did not intend to abide by the treaty; otherwise, he collected ransoms for the release of King Harald and his surviving men, and extracted reparations for the loss of life on our side and damage to our settlements and disruption of our commerce and productivity, as did King Glúmr for Thelir," Stefanie recounted.
"And what was the king's ransom?" Newark queried, narrowing his eyes.
"Territory and the associated natural resources, sir," Stefanie answered. "To Thelir, King Harald ceded all of Seljord Lake and lands south past the village of Bœr, now known as Bø. To Arendelle, he transferred the lower part of the Otra river that ran through old Mandelle to the sea and about five kilometers of the surrounding countryside and communities to the west of it, along with a maritime claim roughly five kilometers out into the Skagerrak. To both Arendelle and Thelir, he forfeited sections of the Hardanger Plateau in the interior. We fortified our new frontier and established what could be called a naval station at the town of Otruness, at the mouth of the river. We gained a buffer zone and valuable arable land, pasture, forests, mineral deposits, and premier fishing and hunting habitats."
"Good fishing, eh?" the Irishman angled. Waclaw, Homberg, John, and some of the other tourists also perked up.
"Yes, sir. We have a variety of chartered saltwater and freshwater fishing expeditions to choose from, all equipment provided," Stefanie baited with a smile. "Something for every month, for every budget. Right now, the grayling are biting."
The Irishman, Waclaw, Homberg, and John exchanged meaningful looks.
"So are the potential customers," Sinibaldo said sotto voce. Irene and Debora rolled their eyes; Zlata and Papadopoulos laughed behind their hands.
"Perhaps if we skipped lunch in the town, I could-" John began to say to Irene. His wife lightly swatted his arm and frowned. This time, Grimsen smirked.
Newark remained aloof from the digression. "Why not seize everything that was under King Harald's rule? Or at least more of it?"
"The saga really doesn't say, sir, but King Egil I was characterized as 'distrusting' foreigners and strangers, while King Glúmr was described as being 'wary' and 'suspicious.' Perhaps they had no taste for international relations and politics, such as they were back in those days. And in retrospect, dividing the spoils between Arendelle and Thelir would have been problematic for a number of reasons, and likely would have lead to a war between the allies if they had tried," Stefanie said.
Newark silently absorbed that for a few moments. "Intriguing. Miss Rask, is there a Disnee translation of this saga or a scholarly dissertation about it?"
"Yes, sir. There are translations of all our sagas and annals in the university's library, and Minister Rogalund has written modern analyses for several of them. Going further back, to the mid-eighteenth century, Bishop Bredahl wrote 'Branching Paths,' something like a moral primer about the lessons that could be learned and conclusions that could be drawn from our local history," Stefanie informed him.
The researchers all exchanged meaningful looks. "Thank you. It sounds like some of us have a few evenings of interesting reading ahead," Newark said.
"Given the nature of Arendelle's current monarch, is there anything to suggest that the snow storm was magically generated?" ventured Papadopoulos. The tourists murmured expectantly; most of them had been wondering the same thing.
"While there was the belief that the storm was divine intervention, no lore has been passed down to us that indicates there was magic like Queen Elsa's involved, sir. There is no mention of the storm behaving in an unnatural manner, with snow falling from a clear sky, for example; or the snow, wind, and cold lasting for an abnormal length of time or disappearing unusually quickly or in a strange fashion. The saga does say that some of our crops were ruined, and there are no reports of mysteriously rapid regrowth. If it was the work of a magic user, he or she had only rudimentary control and never publicly came forward to take credit," Stefanie clarified.
The clergyman turned to the rendering of Elsa, and the tour group, guide, and guards followed his gaze.
"Her Majesty in her coronation outfit, painted shortly before the ceremony by the renowned Bretaigne Sous le Vent," Stefanie said. The portrait stared back at them, gloved hands demurely clasped in front of her, the carriage of her head at a modest tilt, but her smile was confident yet enigmatic, and her eyes teasingly took everyone's measure.
"Now there is a woman with a secret if ever I've seen one," the Irishman declared.
There were suppressed snorts of laughter, and Irene was astounded that one of them came from Grimsen.
"Apparently so, sir," Stefanie granted wryly.
"I have to admit that being all covered up looks ... wrong on her," Debora said quietly. Many others in the group nodded.
"If you got it, flaunt it," the Irishman agreed.
Grimsen was far less pleased by that statement. "The Queen of Arendelle is not flaunting it, sir," he said sternly.
"I meant her magic, Captain. Solely her magic, sir," the Irishman insisted. Grimsen gave the visitor a hard look, but signaled he was mollified.
"What did the captain think he meant, mama?" the little Dutch boy asked innocently. Adam, Beatrice, and the other children also waited for the Dutch mother's reply.
"That the Queen shows off her ... ankles, dear," the Dutch mother improvised, and gave Stefanie a pleading look before she and her husband glared at the Irishman and Grimsen, who duly hung their heads.
"Moving on to the next portion of our history," Stefanie said as she escorted everyone to a set of wall-hangings and an ancient map and got the tour back on track, "we come to the Hegemony of Arendelle, when our holdings reached their greatest extent. While Norway honored its promise to not attack us militarily again, they did not trade with us for many centuries. Neither did the Southern Isles or the larger mainland Swedish kingdoms favor us in commerce; they would accept only the hard currencies of the day -gold, silver, jewels, or slaves- from us in exchange for any of their goods. So we sailed forth, raiding and trading in distant countries to acquire precious metals and gems, thralls, livestock, foodstuffs, fabrics, pottery and glass, manuscripts, and technological developments of the age."
They all examined an elaborate tapestry, showing Arendellian Vikings -indicated by the grey-bodied, white-tailed eagle insignia on their shields and ships' sails- attacking, looting, exploring, and trading. Some of the commodities being bartered or plundered were surprising: books, soap, an astrolabe, a wheelbarrow, an array of gears, a spinning wheel, and something that might have been a magnetic compass. The one next to it was a portrayal of ships making harbor along a dune-lined beach and landing craft ferrying families ashore, followed by houses being constructed, fields being tilled, flocks of sheep being herded, and finally something that might have been a religious rite.
"Over the course of about three hundred sixty years," Stefanie resumed, leading the group over to the map, which presented the world known to Arendelle during the Viking era, "we voyaged throughout the East Sea to Finland, Pomerania, and the lands of the Balts; up the Rhine River to Weselton; to France; to Corona; to al-Andalus; south to Anfa; to Tripoli; to Sicily; to Alexandria and up the Nile River to Cairo the Victorious; to Byzantium; to Colchis; to all of the Western Isles; to Iceland; to Svalbarð; to Greenland; to Spitsbergen; to Karelia and the White Sea; to the Northern Islands in the Murman Sea.
"We occupied foreign lands, sending colonists to found Pettland, Orkneyjar, Hjaltland, Mön, Skuy, Havbredey, Føroyar, and, if the sagas are correct, even a settlement in the New World, in what is now Newfoundland, before Leif the Lucky." The guide indicated the farthest western area on the map, which was an uncannily accurate outline of the coast of Labrador, Newfoundland Island, and tantalizing bits of what could have been the southern part of Baffin Island and the eastern shore of Cape Breton Island.
"You certainly got around," Homberg marveled.
"We were desperate, sir," Stefanie acknowledged. "We had a lot of bigger competitors trying to beat us to the punches and the prizes, and hoping for us to falter. Plus, we were still boxed in on the Scandinavian Peninsula, so as our population grew, it needed somewhere to go, and some means to support itself. Unfortunately, that affected many of other people's homelands."
"Yes, you and the rest of the Norsemen really did a number on the Western Isles," Newark stated. "The Great Heathen Army left Myrcia a vassal state of some nation or other until after the Renaissance, and there still hasn't been a native royal dynasty since before the Skånelaw was imposed."
"Well, the Saxons and Angles did a number on the Celts and the Picts," the Irishman pointed out, "who did a number on whoever was there before them, and so on down the line until we reach the first poor cavemen to set up house in the Isles, thinking they had finally found a spot where nobody else would bother them."
"And even those first poor cavemen likely chased out some poor bears, bats, and wolves, who thought they had finally found a spot where nobody else would bother them," Homberg chimed in.
"True enough," Newark allowed with a mild smile. "One ethnicity's ruthless villains and darkest days are usually some other ethnicity's noble heroes and proudest moments."
"And some of the unpleasant events in the past have helped create some of the good that is in world today, or might have prevented an even worse future," Papadopoulos philosophized.
"My father told me never to complain or argue about anything in front of a priest or nun," the Irishman counseled Newark.
"Words of wisdom," Newark rejoined drolly.
Stefanie cleared her throat to regain the group's attention. "Eventually, our colonies were abandoned, became independent, or were incorporated into other states as we turned to purely legitimate trade. Thanks to cross-cultural influences and our own expertise, enterprise, and innovations, we found our niche. A few of the inventions we brought back gave us industrial or navigational advantages much earlier than other countries in medieval Europe," she continued. "The spinning wheel, which we further improved upon, gave us the ability to produce thread, and therefore fabric, much more efficiently than the hand-spinning of the day, enabling us to export surpluses of yarn, broadcloth, and finished garments for a profit. We refined the design and manufacturing of our axes and hatchets, crafting superior tools for the forest, farm, and general carpentry. The astrolabe and magnetic compass allowed us to set course with a precision that surpassed the rest of Europe in the Middle Ages, and so our speed made our merchant fleet a preferred means of maritime transport."
The guide directed everyone to a panel painting of a past king of Arendelle, flanked by banners with the predatory white-tailed eagle emblem, addressing his subjects while holding a gilded cross in his right hand and a potted purple crocus in his left one. The stiff, flat Gothic style contrasted dramatically with the elegant realism and depth of Elsa's likeness.
"We also discovered that the stigmas of our indigenous Agðir crocus could be used as a spice and a dye. Although boreal saffron is not quite as tasty as genuine saffron from the south, there was a demand for it in foreign markets," Stefanie went on. "King Eyarr II, our first Christian ruler, encouraged the protection of the wild plants' natural highland habitat and their cultivation on the slopes and their domestication for household gardens. Our local nickname for it was 'poor man's saffron' because every citizen was -and still is- free to gather it on the commons and sell it for personal income, and so even people of limited means had the potential to earn enough during the flowering season to sustain themselves through winter. Although we could not afford to build splendid palaces, mighty fortresses, or breathtaking cathedrals like many other countries, we considered it a blessing to have such an egalitarian source of wealth."
"But then one day, you learned just how precious your native crocus really is," John supplied. Prior to the revelation of Queen Elsa's magic, boreal saffron was Arendelle's biggest claim to international fame; and his hands-on experience with it was another reason he had been tempted by the job opening in the petty kingdom.
"Correct, sir. When the Black Death swept through Europe," Stefanie said. Many in the group fidgeted uncomfortably at the mention of the horrible contagion that had ravaged much of the then-known world, from China to Islamic Iberia, from Scandinavia and Iceland to the Barbary Coast. "Unfortunately, much of the damage was already done across the continent before we noticed a correlation between diet and resistance to the plague."
"Boreal saffron is used to this day when there is a reoccurrence of the plague," John affirmed, "both as a treatment in the early stages of the disease and as a preventative measure to decrease the risk of transmission among the healthy. We've also found it to be effective against consumption if the patient isn't too far gone, and some cases of pneumonia respond to it. I myself swear by washing with a soap made with it when we're preparing for surgery, and it's well-documented as a beneficial additive when dressing flesh wounds. We're still trying to figure out how it does it."
"And why the Agðir crocus has medicinal properties only when grown in Arendelle's upland soil," Homberg said.
"Is it a kind of magic, too?" Beatrice asked, looking from her father to Homberg.
"Probably not like Queen Elsa's or the radiant flower that saved the Queen of Corona, my dear, but sometimes the workings of nature are just as miraculous," Homberg averred. "The world is lucky that a perfectly ordinary -albeit extremely finicky and fascinating- plant yields a wonder drug."
"And that its true virtue was discovered when the need was greatest," John put in. The tour group nodded solemnly.
"To honor the plant that made the difference between life and untimely death for hundreds of thousands of people, and to symbolize rebirth and hope for the future after so much had been lost, King Erik IV -King Erik the Good- changed the royal family's heraldic device from the white-tailed eagle to the golden crocus," Stefanie explained. "In gratitude for Arendelle's mission of mercy to deliver as much boreal saffron as we could throughout the northern trade network to stop the spread of the disease, the Kingdom of Sweden gave us an orb and scepter, hallowed by St. Catherine of Vadstena herself, to match the new coat of arms. If you would please follow me, they are on display in one of the castle's armories, along with some of the other crown jewels and royal heirlooms."
Shepherded by Grimsen, Vollan, and Holt, the crowd funneled out of the foyer and down a well-lit hallway to a set of two tall, sturdily-built doors flanked by two tall, sturdily-built sentinels, who opened them at a sharp nod from their captain. Inside the windowless room were four more tall, sturdily-built sentinels, each one standing with his back to a different wall. They surveyed the tour group like white-tailed eagles.
"Arendelle knows how to watch over its valuables somewhat better than Corona does," the Irishman mumbled to himself.
"That we do," Holt whispered back with a sly smile.
The walls to the left and right of the door were lined with axes, swords, javelins, pikes, spears, crossbows, recurve bows, quivers of arrows, Modèle 1777 muskets, M1819 Hall rifles, Potsdam rifles, and barrels of gunpowder and crates of shot. The Mandelbaums and many others in the group stared wide-eyed at the arsenal. Newark whistled softly.
Stefanie drew the crowd's focus to the presentation cases, presumably made of the Snow Queen's indestructible ice, in the middle of the room and along the rear and front walls. She pointed to the golden crocus-topped orb and scepter, set with pale blue gemstones, resting on a green pillow. Beside them on an orange-yellow cloth lay a substantial necklace of large, alternating square-cut emeralds and amethysts set in gold with a golden crocus flower pendant.
"The holy orb and scepter, and a chivalric collar for the now-defunct Order of the Crocus, which was Arendelle's highest military award," Stefanie said.
In another case was an open, arched crown of plain gold and a slender fillet of unadorned silver on a purple cloth. Next to them was a golden tiara with a vaguely wave-like motif; a sapphire graced the center of its highest peak.
"The one on the right is the headgear for a king regnant; the one on the left is for a queen regnant; the silver one in the middle is for a prince consort. Tragically, the one for a queen consort was lost at sea with Her Majesty's parents," Stefanie somberly imparted. The Arendellian guards all bowed their heads, and the guests observed a respectful silence.
After a few beats, Stefanie lead them over to a ring of keys, a one-handed sword with an inscription of "†VLFBERHT†" on its blade, and a silver belt buckle with a bear, a wolf, a raven, and an eagle embossed in the corners.
"The sword and belt buckle date from the reign of Bjørn the Berserk, 'the hardest of men' to quote the saga. While we cannot say for certain that it was part of his weapon collection, it is possible that he used it on a few raids or at least acquired it on a sortie, since this is a Frankish sword," Stefanie said. "The keys are from the first stronghold that served as Arendelle's castle. It used to stand roughly where the waterfront plaza and the lower level of town are now. The current castle and fortifications were built with the fortune that boreal saffron brought in, and were finished in the year 1510, after eleven years of construction, mainly for the creation of the artificial island and the defensive walls that join the castle to the cliffs and shield the harbor. The interior was updated in the early eighteenth century."
"That's somewhat surprising. When I first saw the exterior, I thought it might have been a converted church," Debora owned up.
"You are not exactly wrong, ma'am. The castle was built in the style of a stave church," Stefanie made known. "They were the grandest structures native to our region at the time."
The guide directed them to another case holding two codices, each one opened to a representative page. The ancient manuscripts, both seemingly scientific treatises in Greek, looked astoundingly well-preserved for their age.
"During the castle's renovations, a professional librarian was brought in to catalog the books and restore any that needed some tender loving care. He realized that the royal family was in possession of the only known surviving copies of 'On Polyhedra' by Archimedes of Syracuse and 'On Pneumatics' by Ctesibius of Alexandria," Stefanie announced.
Eliasz, Waclaw, Newark, and Sinibaldo all immediately moved in for a closer look, peering at the text and diagrams. In his excitement, Eliasz unconsciously reached out a hand toward the case, and Debora cleared her throat in reprimand. Her husband contritely checked himself.
"We have modern facsimile editions, along with a few other souvenirs, for sale in the guardroom when you exit," Vollan said helpfully.
"Of course," Irene said under her breath. John bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.
"Just take my money," Waclaw uttered. "All of Ctesibius' other writings are lost; we only know of his inventions from citations by other authors."
"I didn't think Vikings were bibliophiles. I didn't think Vikings could even read," Newark confessed.
"In general, they weren't and couldn't, sir. But due to our circumstances, we weren't above stealing ideas and adopting other civilizations' values if they could improve our standard of living or make Arendelle more secure," Stefanie disclosed. "There was no profit in being ignorant, so during the Viking era, the majority of Arendelle's population was literate in our local dialect and numerate. Most of our sagas were put down on parchment not long after the time in which the events occurred - and they aren't nearly as colorful as the other Nordic countries' chronicles. We also wrote down pagan beliefs and tales before Christianity arrived, and so our stories about the old gods, giants, elves, trolls, dwarves, dragons, and other supernatural beings have not been altered by a monotheistic moral bias."
Stefanie segued over to a case that contained a wooden ski with two small chunks missing from its edge. The leather binding was badly deteriorated: just a few shreds remained. "According to our lore, this ski was used by Nórr, founder of Norway and direct ancestor of our royal family, on his journey to find his missing sister, Gói," she stated.
"Searching for a missing sister? Now we know whose side of the family Princess Anna takes after," the Irishman jested. "Did he ever find her?"
"Yes, sir. The legend goes that Nórr and his followers set out from somewhere on the shore of the Gulf of Bothnia, traveled through the Kjölen Mountains -the Keel of Norway- to what is now Trondheimsfjord, then down the western and southern coasts, and back north and east, defeating all who opposed them, before they finally found Gói in Heidemark, which roughly corresponds to modern Hedemarken. After battling her kidnapper, King Hrólf of the Hill, they reached an agreement in which Hrólf kept Gói as his wife; Nórr married Hrólf's sister, Hödd; and Hrólf and his people agreed to serve Nórr. And thus Nóregr -Norway- was established, but the kingdom was soon divided amongst Nórr's descendants," Stefanie narrated, and motioned to the next case, which contained a golden torc-style bracelet. "Tradition has it that this armband belonged to Nórr's son, Garðr, who was the grandfather of the brothers Agði, the first king of Mandelle, and Agðar, first king of Arendelle."
"Fascinating. Do you have any idea when this is supposed to have taken place?" Newark probed.
"Going by the genealogy within the story and a few early kings whose reigns we can definitively pinpoint, Minister Rogalund estimates that it would have happened during the sixth or seventh century A.D., but given that Nórr's lineage includes ... mythological beings, it's not safe to make any assumptions," Stefanie warned.
"Which mythological beings, Miss Rask?" Newark prompted, his curiosity piqued.
Stefanie unexpectedly hesitated and glanced at Grimsen, who shrugged his shoulders and bobbled his head noncommittally. The researchers exchanged inquisitive looks, wordlessly wondering why their guide was suddenly so shy.
"Nórr was the son Þorri," Stefanie began slowly, "who was said to be king of Gotland, Kvenland, and Finland. Þorri was the son of King Snærr -which means 'snow' in Old Norse- the Old. Snærr was the son of Jökul - which means 'glacier, icicle, or ice' in Old Norse. Jökul was the son of Kári -which can mean both 'curved or wavy' and 'obstinate or pugnacious' in Old Norse- who was known as god of the wind, the 'Scathe of the Sail.' Kári was the son of Fornjótr -which means either 'ancient giant' or 'original owner' in Old Norse- who was also said to be king of Gotland, Kvenland, and Finland."
"Now we know whose side of the family Queen Elsa takes after!" the Irishman exclaimed as astonishment once more rippled through the tour group.
"Oh, Miss Duffin is going to have a ball with that family tree," John chuckled.
"It's just a bit of folklore, sir. No one really believes it, not even Her Majesty," Grimsen maintained.
"But this is one fantastical pedigree that is actually plausible," Newark countered. "If there were another race with magical-"
"Queen Elsa and the rest of our royal family are and always have been one hundred percent human, sir," Grimsen interrupted. "Please do not say that they might be giants. Or something more eerie."
The other tourists braced for a quarrel, since it was obvious that the captain of the guard was prepared to defend his sovereign more than just physically, and that the Snow Queen's taxonomic classification was a sensitive subject. Everyone was relieved when Newark backed off right away.
"I meant no insult, sir," Newark appeased. "Before the advent of written historical records and rigorous scientific analysis, a human family with the hereditary ability to control temperature, snow, ice, and wind would have undoubtedly been taken for gods, giants, or some other superior form of life -or at least come to be memorialized as such over time- by ordinary humans."
Grimsen also put his hackles down. "Possibly so, sir," he conceded. "But the story has been viewed as just a tall tale for many centuries, a way to give the youngsters an explanation of our beginnings when the elders didn't know the real answer. It's very common for the foundation stories of other nations to involve far-fetched people and events, but nobody gives any credence to them."
"That's because other nations don't have monarchs with magical powers that perfectly fit in with the local folklore," the Irishman jibed. "Although I freely admit that I believe the Tuath Dé and Formoire from back home were real and supernatural. Or at least that some humans used to be more ... special, once upon a time."
Grimsen gave the Irishman and Newark hard looks, but signaled to Stefanie to recommence with the tour. Everyone relaxed somewhat when she lead them over to another case. A frayed, faded black pennant decorated with a red V and B was within.
"And this was the flag that we captured when we helped liberate the Kingdom of Visby when the Victual Brothers' invaded and occupied the island back in the late fourteenth century. The Victual Brothers had also tried to blockade Arendelle, but they quickly found out that we had obtained the best artillery of the day, and that our cliffs gave us superb vantage points," Stefanie said smugly.
"Sunk them all," Holt added with a fist pump.
The guide ushered the group over to the last case, which contained an exquisite katana and sheath. "And this sword was brought back from Japan by Queen Pippilotta. She voyaged extensively in her youth and became the first member of the royal family to circumnavigate the globe. If you would please follow me to the art gallery, you can see her portrait and a few more treasures that she returned home with," Stefanie offered.
They exited the armory, with Grimsen bringing up the rear, and the hallway sentries shut the doors behind their commander. As the group transited the corridor, they came upon another door, this one emblazoned with a large golden crocus, and tended by a tall, earnest-looking guard.
"That's the royal study," Stefanie notified them. "Queen Elsa is in a meeting right now, so please be quiet as we pass." They all but tiptoed as they went by.
"I'd love to be a fly on the wall in there right now," Newark murmured once they were a polite distance away.
"Perhaps Miss Duffin can be persuaded to share what she's found out," Sinibaldo said out of the corner of his mouth.
"We could buy her a meal," Waclaw proposed. "That always worked on me when I was a student."
"The way to a man's mind is through his stomach," Zlata teased. Waclaw playfully stuck out his tongue at her. Eliasz and Debora pretended to be unaffiliated with the younger Poles.
"How about a potluck supper, with Miss Duffin as the guest of honor?" Papadopoulos suggested. "I'll bring the salad."
"At our place, at six o'clock," Irene volunteered. Adam and Beatrice looked thrilled at the prospect of something that sounded like a party.
"Seems like we have a plan," Homberg approved.
The passageway lead to a spacious lobby at the base of huge spiral case, which was usually the highlight of this particular stop on the tour. But today all eyes were on a short, ambulatory snowman who was peeking behind the suits of armor posed against the wall at the base of the stairs.
Stefanie and the guards smiled affectionately as squeals of delight erupted from all of the children and even some of the adults in the tour group. The snowman looked up, beamed happily, and waddled closer to the visitors, his own personal flurry floating above his head.
"And this is Olaf," Stefanie introduced tenderly.
"And I like warm hugs," Olaf delivered his obligatory catch phrase and spread his stick arms wide. All of the children and most of the adults, including the Irishman, lined up for an embrace.
Olaf had nearly finished accommodating everyone, with Adam and Beatrice waiting to be last, when, out of the corner of his eye, John caught a blur of motion on the stairs above. A blur of motion that had strawberry blonde hair and was sliding down the coiling banister at alarming speed.
Grimsen also saw Princess Anna riding the railing, and knew all too well that her momentum would land her in the precise spot where Olaf and the children now stood. "Incoming!" the captain of the guard shouted and charged toward the snowman and the young guests in a desperate attempt to move them out of harm's way. Vollan and Holt instantly followed their leader. John and Irene could only watch and hope.
The Princess of Arendelle was on the penultimate turn of the staircase when she noticed the crowd at the foot of the steps, and her eyes went wide with dismay as she realized that she was on a collision course.
Author's Notes - Full disclosure: The whole story of Nórr is lifted straight from Hversu Noregr byggðist and the "Fundinn Nóregr" part of the Orkneyinga saga, both found in the Flateyjarbók. Just look up Nór, Snærr, or Fornjót in Wikipedia. This real legend (?!) fits in so perfectly with "Frozen" that I'm surprised no one seems to have used it before. The only thing I've added is to make Mandelle (from the real town of Mandal in Vest-Agder) and Arendelle "sibling" kingdoms. More of Nórr's family tree will be discussed later on.
The Agðir Mountains are fictitious. The oath of King Harald is one part shout-out to Norway's real national motto and one part foreshadowing (since I've already told you that a mountain chain is gonna get wiped out). The medicinal properties of boreal saffron aren't too wackadoodle, since real saffron was used as an antiseptic for centuries. So I gave boreal saffron an antibacterial (but not antiviral) quality. The mystery of why it only happens in Arendelle's soil will be discussed. Hint: It does involve magic. Whether or not the storm that saved Arendelle was magic will also be discussed.
Real-life Seljord Lake is said to have a lake monster (affectionately named Selma); it will be touched on when the crew goes to Thelir.
The particular image of Elsa that I'm referencing is from "The Art of Frozen," and it's by Brittany Lee (hence the horrible translation for artist's name).
You should try to imagine the Irishman being voiced by Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow doing an Irish accent. Stunt casting in fan fiction!
The list of objects that the Arendellian Vikings bring back really are things that medieval Europe didn't have (or had "lost") but were in existance in other parts of the world.
The Murman Sea is an older term for the Barents Sea, and the "Northern Islands" are Novaya Zemlya. What is called Spitsbergen here is the older name for real-life Svalbard. What is called Svalbarð here is real-life Jan Mayen island. Imagine Pettland to be historic Caithness turned into an island. Orkneyjar = Orkney. Hjaltland = Shetland. Mön = Isle of Mann. Skuy = Isle of Skye. Havbredey = the Outer Hebrides. Føroyar = Faroe Islands. I felt compelled to give Arendelle an "empire" in days of yore because a dinky country wouldn't have survived amidst all those larger, stronger Viking nations.
The Great Heathen Army was for-real, and it did leave real-life Mercia a vassal state after a period of dominance. The Skånelaw is a stand-in for the Danelaw, since "Frozen's" Danes are Southern Islanders.
I've heard some people question why the search party for Anna and the Weselton assassins weren't armed with guns. It's because the guns of the era were extremely clunky. Think of how bad American Civil War firearms were, and then remember that "Frozen" is set before that. M1819 Hall rifles probably would have been state-of-the-art for the day, and they were incredibly bad by modern standards (8-9 shots per minute in skilled hands). Plus, they didn't have smokeless powder, so after one or two shots, the shooters would have obscured their own view. Not exactly great for taking on a magic user.
"On Polyhedra" and "On Pneumatics" really are still lost to us. The Victual Brothers (aka Likedeelers) were real pirates in the North and Baltic Seas. I made up their flag, though.
I had to put in a katana, because 1.) A Pippi Longstocking expy bringing home a katana is just too cool to pass up; and 2.) Anna totally needs a katana when the action gets going. Seriously.
Elsa's not-cold, unbreakable, unmelting ice is deduced directly from the movie (and the shorts). At the skate party ending, the people aren't bundled up. In fact, when childhood Anna and Elsa are playing in the ball room, Anna isn't bundled up. She has on snow boots, but no robe or coat. A little girl in just a nightgown would have been shivering in the amount of snow Elsa created if it were really cold. Elsa can also make ice that's extremely strong. Anna's ice skates made of ice are a prime example, but the ice palace also has to be made from ice that is out-of-this-world strong - and Elsa really didn't even know what she was doing. Examples of unmelting ice are the skating rink and star/snowflake at the top of the castle at the end of the movie; the ice decorations and ice cream cake in the courtyard in "Frozen Fever;" and the ice/snow garland Elsa conjures inside the castle at the beginning of "OFA." Like I said, Elsa is ridiculously powerful - but in an interesting way if you know how to use it. I just hope the sequel doesn't have too many instances of Elsa "forgetting" all the things she absolutely, positively was capable of in the first movie.