THIRTY: Consequences
"I would prefer that you desisted from this ridiculous quest." Viggo's voice was icy and scornful as his dark eyes scanned the reports from his agents on his tablet. Ryker looked up, his cold eyes narrowing at his younger brother's peremptory tone.
"Your preferences are hardly my concern," he replied with equal coolness. "I am not breaking any important laws and while enforcing your vision for Berk is satisfying, I'm hardly likely to become a billionaire being paid to dispose of your little problems." Looking up sharply, Viggo stared at the bulky shape, sitting back casually in his chair.
"And becoming a billionaire is the name of the game?" he asked dryly.
"You have been extremely well remunerated with your houses and cars and bank balances, Johann is literally rolling in riches while I have one home and a modest college fund for my daughters," Ryker growled. "And yet, which one of us is the person taking all the risks. I don't see you getting your hands dirty pulling the trigger, wielding the knife or squeezing the life out of some troublesome peasant who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut…"
"And yet, you do those things so well," Viggo taunted him. "My talents lie in other arenas. While you terrorise sleepy women and children to help Eret get out of his personal debts, I am slowly but surely excising each and every protection the people of Berk can expect from the law. I don't want to rule an island where losers and cripples and lazy, useless members of the population expect to be supported by those of us who actually contribute! So we've taken out the budget for homelessness, disability and unemployment and tightened up laws for every aspect of life."
"So you can look tough on crime by making far more people criminals," Ryker snorted. "Don't you have any conscience about persecuting those who need help?"
"That's why we have Priests and charities," Viggo said coldly. "Lord Drago despises the useless and all I am doing is preparing the way for his ascension to the rule of the Archipelago." Ryker chuckled.
"Assuming these sheep don't fight back," he pointed out.
"That is why we prime them with the promise of tough laws on vagrants, thieves and traitors and a bright economic future that the current government can't provide…" Viggo replied smoothly, sitting back.
"Because you and Johann are undermining ever effort they make to increase the standard of living and prosperity of our people," Ryker chuckled.
"You haven't exactly suffered," his younger brother pointed out.
"But I haven't been valued for the contribution and risks I take either," Ryker growled. "So I will be heading over to Meathead to follow the leads to the Treasure."
"There is no Treasure!" Viggo snapped. Ryker rose.
"Of course I defer to your wisdom, brother," he said sarcastically. "But in case you're wrong, I'll check for myself. And when I've lying on a bed of gold, I'll be sure to thank you for your confidence in my hunch!"
"Ryker! This is a ploy," Viggo told him brutally as he walked towards the door. "Fury is involved-and that man is starting to irritate me. He sticks his nose in where he isn't wanted and his generosity undermines what I am trying to do. He's playing with you."
"He wouldn't even imagine we would dig up his friend!" Ryker growled from the doorway. "No reasonable person would!"
"How do you know?" Viggo asked him. "We know nothing about him-or his friends. I would rather you put your efforts into investigating them…" Ryker chuckled scornfully.
"You worry too much," he scoffed. "But I will assign my best men when we get back from Meathead and dig into his shadowy past!"
Viggo watched as the door slammed and rolled his eyes-and then he tapped a number on his tablet. A tanned, vulpine face appeared, dark hair cropped and a neat goatee on his chin. The man's cold eyes narrowed.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"I have a problem," Viggo said without preamble.
"And I have far greater concerns with the upcoming operation," the man sneered.
"Krogan-I wouldn't contact you if this wasn't a direct threat to Lord Drago's plans," Viggo told him in an exasperated voice. "Tallon Fury, the billionaire, seems to be sticking his nose into far too many places that don't concern him." Krogan's eyes glittered in anger.
"And can't you investigate this man yourself?" he scoffed.
"He has the ear of the President," Viggo hissed. "We have evidence that he has had closed meetings with her." Krogan leaned forward.
"Billionaires buy influence," he growled. "And Presidents like to have major employers and donors as friends. Find proof this man is a threat and I will throw everything I have at him. Until then…you will have to deal with your local political rival yourself!" Viggo glared at the screen as it went blank and then rose abruptly to walk to the window and sweep his gaze across Berk.
"Then it's time Mr Tallon Fury found himself under the microscope," he murmured. "Don't rest on your laurels, Fury-if there is something to be found, I will uncover it. No one is as perfect as you seem."
oOo
"HUNG OVER!" Tuffnut's voice boomed round the kitchen as Hiccup rested his head on the table and stuffed his fingers in his ears.
"Thanks, Tuff-I may not have noticed," he groaned. Heather put her bowl of porridge very hard down just by his head, causing him to whine in pain.
"Oh sorry-is your head hurting?' she asked sweetly. He cast her a jaundiced look with a bloodshot eye.
"No, exploding," he rasped. "I think I may be becoming allergic to champagne."
"You know the answer then, dude," Tuff commented, chewing his scorched pop tart with every sign of enjoyment. "Drink whiskey instead."
There was a moment of silence as every eye fell on him in shock.
"Gin, then?" he suggested.
"I don't think that will help," Fishlegs offered mildly, scanning his phone for the latest local news feed and sipping a huge cup of coffee.
"Rum? Tequila? Martini?"
"Tuffnut…" Snotlout said quietly.
"Brandy? Vodka?"
"Muttonhead," Ruff commented, cuffing him on the back of the head hard. "Ingen needs to stop drinking since he's clearly useless at it!"
"Am not!" Hiccup protested, lifting his head and looking green.
"Are too. You get drunk every time and have no idea of your limits!" the female twin told him tartly.
"As a billionaire, I have to maintain my persona and champagne is the only drink for billionaires!" Hiccup protested, swallowing hard against nausea.
"Or sparkling water," Ruff told him, folding her arms and looking unimpressed.
"Yeah, that would have worked with Eret," Hiccup grumbled, stealing Heather's orange juice and slowly sipping the liquid. "He'd have laced it with vodka to make sure I was off my game."
"Snot told us about the gambling thing," Heather added, her tone a little disapproving. "Unlimited stakes poker? What were you thinking?" Draining the glass, Hiccup reached over and grabbed Tuff's second pop tart. The male twin scowled.
"I was thinking my personal bank account contains over a billion dollars so even risking a million or so was worth it…but in the end, Eret isn't a good enough player to offer much competition…" Hiccup replied, munching the sickly treat. "Gods, I can feel my teeth dissolving, Tuff. Did you put extra sugar on it?"
"You know it, dude," Tuff grinned.
"And you always beat us in every game we had on the Barf'n'Belch," Fishlegs commented. "We had the twins check there was no way you could see our cards in fact. Ah…"
"Ah what?" Heather asked, looking over at the husky man. Fishlegs's big face split in a wide grin, his blue-green eyes shining with satisfaction.
"News of the donations has got out there," he reported. "The hospital has released a very fulsome statement thanking Mr Tallon Fury for funding the new scanners, staff and buildings they have been asking for over the last five years. The equipment is already on order and they have announced they will rename the Radiology Department 'the Tallon Fury Department of Radiological Investigations'."
"Doesn't exactly trip off the tongue," Hiccup murmured. Heather swatted his arm.
"I think it's cute," she commented.
"I mean, how would you feel being wheeled into the 'Fury Department' if you were sick? Not exactly reassuring, is it?" Hiccup murmured.
"And it's linked to the piece from the Education Department on the Scholarships and donations you've made to the schools," Fishlegs read aloud, his eyes scanning the article. Ruff walked to his side and peered over his shoulder, wrapping her arms affectionately around his neck.
"There's also an online petition started to make you First Minister since you have done more for Berk in the few months you've been here than Viggo has in over a decade," she read.
"I bet he's impressed by that," Snotlout commented, attacking his bacon and eggs with gusto. Stealing Snot's coffee, Hiccup shook his head.
"It's a direct challenge," he said, sounding more like himself, though still looking green around the eyes. "Another alpha on Berk-with a different offer to the people. Rather than oppression and more and more laws, I'm offering a better life for everyone. But of course, I am not seeking election. I have no ambitions in that direction. I have too much on my plate with my business…"
"So you'll challenge him in the vote in a couple of months," Tuff realised. Nodding, Hiccup rose and poured himself another coffee-and a fresh one for Snotlout. He also refilled Heather's orange juice.
"Eventually. Reluctantly," he said with a lopsided smile. "In the meantime, he'll be digging like mad for dirt on me-or you. So make sure you all have your stories intact. Gustav and Fishlegs have covered our tracks but don't do anything to give Viggo a way in…" Then he paused. "But steer very clear of Viggo or any of his retinue. Don't talk to them, engage with them or-or anything. Likewise Ryker, Johann or Eret."
"You deal with them-all the time," Heather pointed out.
"And it's my plan," Hiccup admitted. "I chose to do this. I don't want any of you endangered. Some of you still have family that could be used against you…" Surprisingly, Tuffnut was on his feet in a moment, pacing round the table and hooking his thumbs into non-existent suspenders.
"My dear Ingen, I think I speak for all of the assembled company when I reveal that we are all fully cognisant of the perils of the present enterprise," he announced in an upper class English accent. "Between us, we know enough of those you have chosen as enemies to understand how ruthless and cruel they truly are. But we are with you to the end. Our mother is safe in our fifth cousin, Graham's, farm up on Verruca Point and Fishlegs has moved his family to Dragon's Edge. Snotlout's father is secure in his yard and Dagur has assigned men to watch him and provide security. It's you we worry about." Clapping the man on the shoulder, Hiccup have a grim smile.
"I've nothing left he can take-but I know to maintain my distance," he reassured his friends. "There's an old saying: he who sups with the devil should have a long spoon. At least I know they're devils…though they don't know what I can do. I'll be careful." But as he walked out of the room, Heather shook her head, her green eyes concerned.
"But he's not," she murmured. "And that woman is trying to manipulate him."
"Ingen is smart enough to play her rather than be played," Ruff reassured her, slumping into the vacated chair and stealing one of Tuff's freshly burnt pop tarts. But Heather shook her head.
"I'm not so sure," she sighed. "I mean, he's spent a lot of time with her, one on one. He's befriended her children. He dashed all the way to Dragon Island to get the son treatment. And he let them stay in his own personal space. You don't do that for someone you don't care for. But he told us he was betrayed and yet…" She shook her head. "I don't think even he knows what he feels for her…but I know…I can see…he does feel something for her. And that is something that Eret and Viggo will exploit."
oOo
The Plaza was full, the population of Berk out enjoying 'Stump Day', an old Berkian holiday whose origins were lost in the mists of time but which even Viggo hadn't been able to cancel due to the riots that had immediately broken out when the proposal was announced. There were stalls selling every possible type of food and the obligatory whole yak and whole boar roasting on a spit over a fire. Burger and hot dog stalls were jammed alongside the 'Viking Pizza' concession, ice cream and cotton candy stalls, face painting, 'design your Viking name/crest' and several artisan and craft stalls. The doors of the Great Hall were flung open with the banners for the High School Art Competition rustling in the light breeze as members of the public, anxious families and judges wandered in and out, inspecting the works and enjoying the venue.
Dressed in a white shirt, linen suit and his trademark mirror shades, 'Tallon Fury' was circulating in the Hall, glancing at the works and observing the families. As expected, Zephyr was there with her mother and brother, her submissions obvious to the billionaire by her unique and polished style. What was heartening was that there were a large number of other entries that varied in quality from average to very good. It seemed that on the island of Berk, there were some fine artists. Calmly, he stopped by every entry and every excited or nervous competition and spared a word, a compliment and a smile, making each feel valued and honoured.
Contrary to his friends' belief, he had thought hard about how to conduct the competition. He had set a set of four criteria for the submissions and specified painting or similar hard image creation. He had excluded photography, sculpture, performance art or installations. And he had gathered a prestigious panel of judges that would render the verdict with himself as only a normal jury member. All had been contacted personally by Tallon with the promise of either fees or a donation to the charity or institution of their choice so that his fellow judges comprised the Professor of Art from Archipelago University, two international Art prize winners from Europe, the Vice-Chancellor from the London University of the Arts and the Director of the New York Museum of Modern Art. He had also included a public vote, where everyone who came to view the exhibits was invited to complete a simple card with the name or number of their favourite painting. Likewise, the artists were all expected to vote-though they were given checklists that precluded them from voting for their own works.
Emerging, blinking in the sunshine, Hiccup found himself grasped by the arm by a trio of bluff, very bearded local businessmen who all greeted him like an old friend and generously bought him a local apple punch as they huddled round him.
"Mr Fury-we want to thank you for all you have done," the first man, a jug-eared bald man with a bushy blond moustache, commented. The man next to him nodded.
"Your generosity has taken us all by surprise," he added. He was solid and portly with a full curly brown beard. "Single-handedly, you have addressed the most glaring deficiencies that our government seems determined to wilfully ignore." Sipping the punch cautiously, Hiccup watched them. These three men were all confident, knowing their lines and working as a team: they had been deputised to speak to him. Then he paused: the punch was incredibly alcoholic and bearing Ruffnut's words in mind, he carefully rested it on the nearest stall.
"I have ample and the causes needed supporting," he managed neutrally.
"And this magnificent competition which offers hope to the most talented youths on the island," the third man said. He was another dumpy man with a long greying brown beard and bright brown eyes. "As do your scholarships and business loans."
"I have no children of my own so I support the next generation the best I can," Hiccup replied. The men shared a look and huddled closer.
"We would ask you to consider running against Viggo Grimborn," the first man said, his voice low. "The First Minister does not seem to have the interests of the people of Berk at heart. Laws are harsh, welfare has been slashed and his cronies seem to be immune to any redress for bad debts or other criminality." The billionaire frowned.
"I am truly flattered by your faith," he said. "But…"
"Please consider," the second man said in a strangled voice. "You are a businessman. You are innovative and compassionate. You are a Berk resident. You actually care."
"And I have a business that takes up much of my time," Hiccup pointed out with a small amused smile.
"I am sure you can split your time between the two," the third man urged him.
"I have no experience in politics," Hiccup added.
"I am sure that public service can be rewarding personally to a man who is already comfortable financially…" the first man urged him. Hiccup patted him companionably on the shoulder.
"I am incredibly grateful for your faith," he said. "But at present, I fear I must decline."
"There are already a thousand signatures on the petition to make you First Minister," the first man reminded him. Making a show about thinking of it, Hiccup sighed.
"When the petition hits two thousand-that's two thirds of the population of Berk-then I will reluctantly throw my hat in the ring," he told the man. "If public feeling is so strong, I will accede to their wishes and challenge the First Minister at the Polls." There was an audible sigh of relief and all three men grinned, shaking his hand so enthusiastically that he thought it would drop off.
"Thank Thor," the second man said, his eyes gleaming with tears of joy. "Then maybe this nightmare can finally end."
"You don't know how much this means to so many people on this island," the third man agreed, swallowing hard. "Things have been so bad the last decade…the days of Mayor Stoick are like a half-forgotten dream. But now, we have hope."
"We'll get you those signatures," the first man promised. "We will call your office when they reach two thousand."
"I am a man of my word," Hiccup told them, feeling curiously ashamed. They smiled and then finally, with another round of thanks and prayers for his wellbeing, they drifted away. Forcing himself to look unconcerned, Hiccup circulated round the stalls, treating himself to a roasted yak sandwich and handing a hundred dollars to the smallholder with strict instructions to provide free food to anyone who looked in need-especially children. And then he turned and headed back for the Great Hall, finding his way blocked by Astrid. His eyes widened and he nodded to her.
"Mrs Eretson," he greeted her warily and her eyes widened in surprise at his formality before she nodded.
"I haven't had the chance to thank you for everything you did for Fink," she told him. He graced her with a small smile. "I am sure my husband has been awkward-he seems to think that something happened between us but I promise, it hasn't come from me…" Her blue eyes were honest and he nodded.
"Your husband is a hypocrite, a liar and a terrible gambler who never intends to honour any debt," he replied evenly. "I despise all of those things." At his remote tone, she took a shuddering breath and then backed up a step.
"I am sorry to intrude," she said softly and half-turned-but without even thinking, he grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back to face him. As her sky blue linen shift dress moved slightly, a sprinkling of black bruises briefly flashed into view.
"Astrid," he said softly as her eyes widened, self-consciously tugging her dress to cover the injuries. "You're welcome." She managed a watery smile.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you,' she murmured. "My children really like you and whatever my husband says-or whatever I have done-please don't abandon them. Fink would really like to say thanks in person but I wanted to check with you first of that would be okay." As Hiccup released her, he gave a small smile.
"Remind him that he is always welcome up at the house-and so is his sister," he said. "Now please excuse me, Astrid. I need to go and speak with the judges. The public vote is at an end and we need to decide the winner." She stood back as he swept past, then stretched her arms out in the warm sun, the rays caressing her pale skin.
"An interesting man," Viggo Grimborn said, walking slowly to her side. "What did he say to you, Mrs Eretson?"
"I thanked him for his intervention to save my son and he replied that I was welcome," she reported dryly. "He is also happy for my son to deliver his thanks in person…on another day." Casting her a cold sideways look, Viggo stared after him.
"You realise that if I am supplanted, your husband will be bankrupt overnight?" he murmured. "I am the only thing that prevents his debtors claiming their dues. Your home, wealth, security and yours children's schooling will end that hour." He grabbed her arm. "So to that end, Mrs Eretson, I want you to tell me everything that passed between you." Staring at the man and wondering if he had an conscience whatsoever, she wrenched her arm free.
"We all make our own mistakes, Viggo-and we all live with the consequences," she told him. "Eret's are pretty obvious. Yours…well let's just say that if there was an election for First Minister, no matter my personal consequences, I would never vote for you!" Then she marched back into the Hall, where the lights and numbers of people would ensure that he would not approach her again. Viggo scowled.
"I doubt you understand the full range of consequences that will bring-but you and these sheep seem determined to find out," he murmured. "And I will enjoy seeing your face when you truly realise what your husband has gambled away."