Breaking the window: Expedition to Hyperborea

Chapter 20: A ship is repaired…

"In the aftermath of the second raid of our ship, there wasn't really any other course of action that to pick ourselves up and lick our wounds before we would continue on forward with the memories of our dead cherished. With pain still fresh and losses dire, there wasn't really anything else we could do. However, for some others, old wounds torn open would return to plague them. Especially my poor Hermione."

- Bellatrix Black, Expedition to Hyperborea, published 2006

When he had called up Antonin Dolohov for help, one thing Cygnus certainly didn't expect was for his contacts to want to meet him in the muggle world. He was pondering just that as he sat in the back of the Black family Bentley Limousine. Bought in the 1960s, this rarely used but well maintained car was meant to ferry Black family members to muggle locations for what little official business they could have in the muggle world.

Positioned in the back on comfortable leather seating, Cygnus couldn't help but notice that his car, with its smooth black lining and chrome grill, looked to be rather out of place on the muggle motorway compared to the other automobiles. Curious. Automobiles certainly had changed so quickly since the sixties.

He took a deep breath and felt rather anxious, the modern cars providing little distraction. Travelling by car in the muggle world was distinctly less… quick… than a trip through the fireplace. The drive from Manchester to NewCastle On Tyne had taken roughly three hours. But if this is where his contacts wanted to meet him, who was he to disagree?

The car came to a stop in front of an abandoned looking muggle warehouse district, close to the wizarding harbour where the Kingfisher had launched from. Though this side of the track was decidedly… muggle. Old shabby brick buildings mixed with larger ones made from corrugated metal. Sebastian, his driver, left the car and opened the door for him. The sea-air was oddly invigorating and the sounds of gulls above the only sign of life in this place barely illuminated by flood lights in the evening.

"This is all very cloak and dagger, isn't it, sir?" said Sebastian. He was cautious and honestly Cygnus couldn't blame him. The area looked… particularly shady. With a tap of a wand, the car was swiftly cloaked with invisibility and, leaning on his cane, the two men made their way to the warehouse they were supposed to go.

Stood in front of a large wooden sliding door in front of one of the old brick buildings, he was about to knock when the door slid open on its own. Out popped a black-haired middle-aged wizard with shaggy shoulder-length hair with piercing dark eyes and a beard from not having shaven for a day or two. "Were you seen?!" he asked nervously with a voice Cygnus had heard over the radio, peeking left and right into the darkness.

"I… don't… think so," said Cygnus. "Antonin Dolohov, I presume."

"Not here!" hissed the man. "Do you want them to hear us?!"

"Them?"

"Yes, 'them'! You know who they are!"

"I… am afraid I don't…" Cygnus raised an eyebrow.

Dolohov nodded briefly. "Good. Good. Keep it that way. Ignorance is bliss."

"Oh, Antonin!" sounded an older person's voice from inside the building. "Do let the poor men inside for some refreshments. They've been driving for hours!"

Antonin hurriedly let him and Sebastian inside, looked around once more and swiftly closed the sliding door. Cygnus found himself in an empty warehouse, safe for a table and a white-board. On the table were articles and papers strewn about, with maps and pictures pinned to the board. On the table were also cups for tea and several thermos flasks. Near the table stood a gentleman looking to be ten years older than he was: Newt Scamander, another veteran from the war against Grindelwald's madness, he looked ever the bit as world-weary as Cygnus was. Next to him stood a nervous looking attractive raven-haired woman with thick-rimmed glasses, looking to be in her late twenties. She reminded him of Hermione for some reason.

"Oh, where are my manners?" said the older gent as she snapped his fingers and magically poured the tea. "Newt Scamander. And this is Charley."

"Hi," whispered Charley nervously, raising her hand.

"Cygnus Black," he nodded. "And this is Sebastian."

The sharply dressed butler simply nodded his head in appreciation for the tea. A nice cup of tea was just what Cygnus needed to warm his old bones.

Antonin put both his hands on the table, hunching slightly. "Let's get to business then," said he. "You've led us down one hell of a rabbit hole. And I think we still don't have a clue just how deep this thing goes. But what we have managed to find out… Where to start, even?"

Cygnus waited from Antonin to continue as he apparently ordered his thoughts.

"Let's focus on the shipping company first," he said. "We've been looking into the photographs you sent us and have been looking into the supplier of the, well, supplies for the expedition. On paper, it looks like there's three shipping companies involved. One for food, one for naval supplies and one for specialised equipment."

"On paper?" asked Cygnus.

"That's the thing," Antonin snapped his finger. "The first two are perfectly legitimate businesses who deliver to just about any harbour in the UK. With the exception of the company for specialised equipment. That one doesn't show up anywhere else on the books, and paper trails go absolutely bonkers. It meanders from wizarding to muggle world and then back into the wizarding world. We found shell company upon shell company, enough to make a Matryoshka doll feel inadequate"

Cygnus rubbed his chin. "I think I understand," said Cygnus. "My business is in real-estate and it was profitable and interesting from a tax perspective to found an Ltd for a single large project. All the hiring and purchases done would be in separate books as a daughter company to ours."

"Exactly that!" said Newt. "Now think of the same trick you just mentioned, but applied twenty times in a row. It's shell-companies all the way down. Perfect way to hide financial movements in plain sight… or clandestine movements."

Cygnus nodded. "You found the source?"

"You're standing in it," said Dolohov. "The head office of Mandragora Transport Enterprises Limited. As you can see, not many workspaces are ready for use. The circle is completed because this Mandragora Transport Enterprises Limited is the last company in the row, which is then again owned by the first the company in the row. So it's shell-companies all the way up and round, to be more precise. Devious little bastards. They managed to keep this hidden from the tax-man and prying eyes because our lazy good-for-nothing Ministry simply doesn't bother to look further than the muggle world."

Newt lay out the photographs Cygnus had put in the information packet. Photographs of the launch of the Kingfisher, of the launch of the Orpheus and older expeditions. "There's more," said Newt. "We found out this very same shell-company construction has been used to deliver equipment to the Orpheus and three other expedition ships before in the last sixty years. All Arctic. All looking for Hyperborea. None of the companies in question are not mentioned on manifests of any other expeditions or merchant-vessels within the same time-frame."

That got Cygnus to sit up and pay attention. "Meaning… that shell-construction was specifically made to deliver equipment for Arctic expeditions to Hyperborea. I cannot imagine this being a profitable venture. Someone rich and powerful is behind this. Rich and powerful enough to remain hidden. But why?"

"We might have some insight there," said the plucky young woman named Charley. "You see, it is usually the ship's captain and quartermaster who handle the loading of the ships and ordering the supplies. No crate comes on board without either person knowing about it."

Cygnus thought a moment. "The ship's quartermaster is my granddaughter. Betrayal is not in her nature. Nor are underhanded games," he spoke.

Charley gulped nervously. "I… I didn't mean… Sorry… I…."

He gently raised his hand. "I am not angry, miss," he spoke softly. "Please, continue."

"Right, uhm. What we found out about Captain Kirk…" she said. "Thomas Reginald Kirk. Owner and captain of the Kingfisher and experienced naval commander. Been sailing the Arctic ever since his days as a cabin boy. By all accounts a well-liked man around the harbour, respected by his crew and peers. No wife, no family, no siblings. Cannot find a trace of debts or vices or anything else that could make him open to being compromised."

Newt shook his head. "Though it is the captain and the quartermaster who determine what is loaded on board the ship, neither can be expected to order specialised equipment. That job would be meant for the expedition leader or the expeditions' technical officer."

"Which brings us to Eleanor Snowbell and Chandra Raywood," said Charley. "Snowbell is a famous explorer, but she has fallen out of the public eye for the past two or three decades. She's been trying to get this expedition off the ground for some years now. Digging through old newspaper articles, it seemed she wasn't having much luck until fairly recently."

"She approached Bellatrix. My girl has been a fan of that woman since she was little," said Cygnus, rubbing his chin. "She provided Eleanor an audience with my other daughter Andromeda which ended up with her funding the expedition."

"Yes," said Antonin. "Bellatrix speaks very highly of her and praised her as her biggest example in her book. Her best-selling, house-hold name book. Which has been out in the public for four years. So why did she wait so long to approach Bellatrix rather than striking when the iron was hot?"

"Andromeda told me that she might have been experiencing severe medical issues," said Cygnus.

"With respect, I don't think that's it," said Newt. "And with that, we come to Chandra Raywood. Ex-unspeakable and Ministry worker. Exemplary record up until the day that she left."

"Our miss Raywood," said Antonin. "There's some rumours about her becoming disillusioned with the Ministry. Direct colleagues of hers were involved in a largely covered up sex-scandal with several high ranking Ministry officials. Don't ask me how I know this, I have my sources. Some female unspeakables apparently used their charms to get projects funded. Or their managers talked them into their beds with promises of funding. It doesn't matter either way and the end result is the same. When the whole affair was about to go public, all witnesses… the female researchers… all were paid a significant amount of hush money and went off to work for the private sector. There's no indication that miss Raywood herself was involved, though apparently one of her projects was funded though this shady tactic. Most of her expertise seems to be related to magical detection over a great distance, though there is mention of a specific orichalcum artifact study."

"None of this is a direct implication of being involved in the transport shell-company," said Cygnus, leaving through the shipping manifests. "As I see that most of the equipment on the list is related to detection. And what about the symbol on the crate?"

Newt handed him a clipboard. "Have a look at the logo of the Mandragora Transport Enterprises Limited at the top of this official registration form."

Cygnus took a look, his blood running cold. It was the same symbol had seen drawn in red on the barn's wall back in Fargo during the war to ward what was inside. The same logo printed on the shipping crate. Two cubes against each other, angled 90 degrees with two open triangles flanking either side. He remembered Etchemin's words: a ward could be imprinted on any symbol and this symbol was not inherently magic. It was a calling card of sorts. "How brazen," he muttered. "Using this all out in the open."

Antonin chuckled. "It's the paradox of the secret cabal. We are dealing with a powerful group which has a need to remain hidden, but becomes so arrogant that they want to let the world know they exist, even though the world isn't actively looking. Like the muggle free-masons having put masonic symbols on the very dollar bills every American citizen uses. It's not enough to control the world from behind the scenes, no, no, no, they simply have to wave that flag."

Cygnus cocked his head sideways. "What have you found out about this group?"

"We've been looking into the symbol, but we have found no hidden meaning to it," said Antonin. "There might not even be one. But it's irrelevant. We've taken the accounts from the Grindelwald war you've already collected and looked at them in a more broader sense. What we've found is that whenever there is violence or disappearances, this symbol turns up."

"It's not only during wars, but also during natural disasters," said Newt. "Though they are mostly active during wars. Whatever they are doing, they are making use of the chaos to do it. I suppose it makes sense too. There's not much chance of any proper investigations when you're in a warzone or a disaster area."

"The monster," said Cygnus. "The thing in Fargo the purple-robed woman created. It was made from two people fused together. It was an abomination."

"Similar monsters and worse were described in different accounts across the world," said Antonin. "Mysterious purple robed figures, hideous rituals, monstrous creatures… during the first and second wizarding war in the UK, during muggle conflicts as recent as the Yugoslavian collapse and as far back as the US civil war. Perhaps even further back. But they were most active during the Grindelwald war in both Europe and North America."

Charley stepped over to the map pinned to the board and started to fiddle with some red ribbon tape. Cygnus looked on with fascination as she worked while Antonin paced around the table, continuing his tale. "I didn't add up until we started looking at the bigger picture," said he. "So, let's sum up what we know. There is a powerful group connected to multiple Ministries, likely through infiltration. They have powerful backers with money. They conduct heinous experiments in times of war and they are interested in Arctic expeditions to Hyperborea for as of yet unknown reasons. But when we started to connect the dots. Charley, if you please?"

The young woman stepped away from the board and Cygnus could merely gasp. On the map were all the locations at which this shady group had performed one of their heinous experiments during the Grindelwald war, from Fargo to the North to Texas in the South. Connected together, all these sites… Two cubes against each other, angled 90 degrees with two open triangles flanking either side.

Whoever these people were, they had painted their bloody symbol all over the United States. But, there was even more, and when Charley pulled down a transparent overlay, he felt like the stupidest man alive. He had been obsessively looking into this for years after the war and yet this he had never seen. Something these men and one young lady had figured out in weeks. For the overlay contained a map of the magical lay-lines running across the land like magical blood vessels. All these sites on the map were along major arteries.

"They're… doing something to the lay-lines," Cygnus whispered.

"Or tapping into them," said Newt. "We just don't know. But we can guess it's not anything good or wholesome."

Cygnus closed his eyes and sight. "Gentlemen, young lady. I thank you. I must say, when I hear you on the radio, mister Dolohov, I did not expect you to be this analytical or insightful."

Antonin chuckled briefly. "Oh, believe me, mister Black, I stand behind every one of my statements and I believe every word I say. The Ministry is a blight on the wizarding world and they should be held to task at every opportunity. But, at the end of the day, I am also a showman. And if the audience wants a firebrand, a firebrand is what they get."

"You wanted the experts on conspiracies. You wanted truthers like us to bring things to light," smiled Charley. "Well, you got us."

Newt stepped forward, looking rather pensive. "There's one more thing," he said. "We've been looking through the shipping manifests of the older expeditions and comparing them to the shipping manifest for the Kingfisher. There is one major difference there. Both the Orpheus and the Kingfisher received the specialised equipment, but that one crate in the picture. The really large one. Nothing as large is on the manifest for the Orpheus. According to the manifest, it's a really large Aetheromagnetic detector."

"That is a lie," said Antonin. "We traced every crate on the list and managed to find out that one of the shell companies transported that very crate from a Ministry run storage facility at Cardiff. I know for a fact that the Ministry does not own Aetheromagnetic detectors that size. That crate was moved in the deepest of secret to the Newcastle-on-Tyne docks to be loaded on board the Kingfisher."

"Before you ask," said Newt. "I'm afraid we have not an inkling of an idea what could be inside of it."

Cygnus felt his heart sink into his stomach, he grit his teeth and asked the question he had not dared to ask. "Gentlemen," he asked. "In your professional opinion, do you think my girls are in danger?"

Antonin, Charley and Newt shared a look. "In our opinion?" asked Newt.

"Considering what we've seen from this group," said Antonin. "What they are capable of, the strings they can pull and the fact that the Orpheus was lost with all hands? Grave danger…"

Cygnus took a deep breath. "Thank you. All of you. Now… Sebastian? We will leave the car here, we will find the nearest floo and go back to Catterborough Woodhouse immediately. I have calls to make. My girls are in danger…"

"Hey, Dori," asked Rilly as she and Nymphadora stood on the Orlop deck, underneath the main loading bay. Above them, the hatch still had several holes in it, letting the snow and cold wind in. Merlin, it was as if the entire ship was getting as cold as a stone. They'd have to put in the repairs really bloody quickly if they didn't want to freeze to death. To that end, Nymphadora has been gathering more repair supplies and prepping them for use on the upper decks.

"Dori?" asked Rilly again. With so many of the crew out of commission, chances of her little stowaway girlfriend being discovered with a lot smaller, giving her some more freedom of movement. And, really, she needed the help in the hold.

"What?" asked Nymphadora while she was counting pots before putting them onto the trolley.

"What's in that crate? The big one?"

"Hm?" Nymphadora said, looking at the huge unopened crate still sat against the side of the hull. "Oh that, uhm. I think that's just a really big Aetheromagnetic detector. We brought that along in case the smaller detectors wouldn't do the trick or if Pocahontas failed at getting her mojo working. But neither thing happened, so it's just sat there being useless, yeah?"

"Huh," shrugged Rilly. "What's that symbol? Looks weird."

"Eh, company logo maybe? Who knows," said Nymphadora. "Hey, give me a hand with this trolley, would you?"

The crate was now forgotten, deemed far less important than getting all the holes in the ships' hull plugged. Together, the two of them pushed the trolley into the corridor to the fore section of the ship, where Rilly kissed her on the side of the cheek and disappeared to the deck below. When she came to the stairs, she tapped the trolley with her wand and it started to levitate to easily lift it up the stairs. Stood in the empty messhall, it was still relatively warm here. The cold came in from the end of the corridor, blowing down from the deck above where one of those projectiles had impacted the stern and side of the ship, exposing both the captain's quarters and the crew lounge to the frigid Arctic wind.

Cold was swiftly spreading across the ship. They'd have to plug these holes quickly or they'd all freeze to death.

Nymphadora grit her teeth as she pushed the trolley into the corridor and found her way into the sickbay area. Due to the sheer volume of injured people, Sickbay had expanded into the corridor and the nearby cabins. Her friends and crew-mates lay on stretchers and make-shift beds and they didn't look in too good a shape. Irrena lay on her side, clutching her stomach while Dr. Big-Mouth could be heard grumbling inside as he was performing a surgery… A peek inside saw him deep to his wrists in Oswald stomach, apparently removing shards of metal. Hermione and Tahki had been conscripted as nurses and while Tahki was running back and forth providing comfort and medical aid, Hermione was assisting with the surgery.

Nymphadora nodded; Hermione was one of those rare and genuinely multi-talented people who could adjust to any situation and pick up any skill. Shame she was a bit of a basket-case, though, through no fault of her own.

A groan sounded from one of the cabins to the side. These had been assigned for the wounded Neo-Vikings and were dead-last in line for treatment, regardless of the extend of their injuries. With Sunniva being the only exception, it seemed, who was in main sickbay. Nymphadora peeked inside the cabin and found it to be a young man with a nasty looking chest-burn. The Viking seemed close to delirious and obviously in pain. The young man noticed her and started letting out strained words. Water, she realized. He was asking for some water.

Without giving it much thought, Nymphadora stepped away from the cart, poured a cup of water and put it to his lips.

"Nymph, what the hell are you doing?" sounded from Irrena in the corridor.

"He just wants some water, yeah?"

"He tried to kill us all, Nymph! We don't owe him a bloody thing!"

"Bloody Nora, Irry, it's just a cup of fucking water, alright?" Nymphadora shot back.

Yeah, the Neo-Vikings were worth less than dirt at the moment. Though she supposed she couldn't blame her fellow crew. Two cabins further stood a tall red-haired woman, Gudrun was her name, she had learned. The woman gave her a brief stare and then a curt nod in appreciation. Meanwhile, in sickbay, Tahki was giving her full attention to Sunniva, who was sat on a stretcher with her wounded leg exposed. Apparently this Ragnar chappie had stabbed her right through a major artery and the tall blonde had almost bled to death right on the deck. Tahki was apparently scolding the woman over something while Sunniva was rather obviously giving her lovey-dovey eyes. Especially when Tahki's hand rubbed over her exposed thigh with some ointment.

Nymphadora chuckled under her breath while pushing the trolley forward. "You're so fucking gay for her, Pocahontas," Nymphadora muttered to herself. "Just admit it. Go score yourself a nice tall blonde Viking warrior woman already. Bet she's a hell of a shag."

After pushing the trolley up to the passenger deck, she was again hit in the face with a blast of frigid air. Suppressing a shiver, she pushed the trolley to the large hole in the side of the deck. A hole which looked to half as small as it was before. Bellatrix, clad in a parka and earmuffs, was kneeling in front of the hole next to an almost empty tub. Zipper, also clad in his wasp-parka, was parked on Bellatrix' head.

"Special delivery!" greeted Nymphadora.

Bellatrix looked up with a smile. "Great timing, Nymph, I was almost out."

Nymphadora looked on in fascination as Bellatrix dipped her wand into the tub and a glob of viscous liquid stuck to the tip. Bellatrix then moved the glob over to the wood at the side of the hole where it started to attach. With more flicks of her wand, more and more of the destroyed wood re-appeared in exactly the shape as it was before. Bellatrix was quite literally painting a new hull. Of course, it would still need to be treated with varnish after, but still…

"Liquid wood is amazing stuff," said Bellatrix. "In a few hours, you'd never even know there was ever a hole here. Just think what you want it to be and the magic does the rest."

"Wicked. Have you worked with this stuff before?" asked Nymphadora.

"Yeah," said Bellatrix. "At Hogwarts, but we mostly used it for making small wood sculptures. You apply magic and your will shapes it. Made some really creative things. Of course, there was this one girl who got detention because she made this tribal statue with a really big…"

She was interrupted as Zipper flew down to the floor where a soft blanket lay. The wasp grabbed the edge and rolled himself over the blanket. Once it was around him, he gently drew his head inside and enjoyed his warm fluffy blanket chrysalis. Bellatrix reached down and patted him as the only exposed part of him were two antennae poking out into the cold. "Don't worry, Zip," chuckled Bellatrix. "We'll have this hole plugged soon."

Nymphadora bit her lip. "We're going through this stuff quicker than I would like," she said. "Can we make more, you think?"

"Doubtful," Bellatrix said. "Liquid wood needs some very specific conditions to be made. Anything less and you get mad diminishing returns. Out here? On the ship? In this cold? You could take all the furniture on board and the conversion process would still only give you half a tub."

"So when it's gone, it's really gone," sighed Nymphadora. "Great. Should keep an eye on the stores, then."

Next stop, upper deck.

The frigid winds slashes across her face, sending a shivering down her spine the moment she stepped on deck. Her parka kept her protected and, so far at least, it was still colder on the outside of the ship. On deck, Daelia and Copperhead were patching holes in the wood with more tubs of liquid wood. After saying hi to them and replenishing their supply, she hurriedly made her way back to the staircase to find some warmth, only to stop in her tracks right in front of the wheelhouse. There were lain out the bodies of the slain. Four dead Neo-Vikings and Rum-dum Riggere. The dead Vikings had been lain out to the side, with a tarp barely covering all four of them as it flapped in the wind trying to escape.

Riggere had been treated with more reference, placed right in front of the wheelhouse with his entire body placed in a bag. Crewmembers that were not in sickbay had left little gifts for him, weighed down by stones of magic to keep the wind from blowing them away. Haema had left some of his favourite candies, it seemed. There was a snuff-box and some flowers. Of course, several bottles or rum. His favourite brand too.

"Fuck," Nymphadora shook her head and walked down the staircase, understanding Irrena's harsh reaction a little better now. Her next delivery would be at the captain's quarters. She pushed past the cabins and could already hear the arguing from behind the door before she knocked and opened in. Captain Kirk and Eleanor Snowbell were in the middle of a rather heated debate.

"… Have you completely lost your mind?! This ship is not moving one inch forward!"

"We are losing valuable time! The lost city is a mere thirty miles away from us! Thirty miles from our very goal! The greatest discovery in wizarding history!" Eleanor all but shouted back.

Kirk, obviously livid, took a step forward. "Listen, lady. Have you paid any attention to what's just happened?! One of my crew lies dead. DEAD! That's the opposite of living! Most of the rest of the crew is recovering in sickbay, some still in critical condition! To a point that I only have three sailors on active duty, including the quartermaster, and no one to actually steer the bloody ship! I've had to conscript our chef and members of your own expedition to help mend the hull! And there's a point, we've got a ship full of holes in one of the most dangerous environments on the planet! Does this seem like a good situation to be in to you?! Does this seem all proper and dandy to you?!"

Nymphadora scraped her throat. "I'll, uhm… I'll just be stood over here like Piffy on a rock bun until you lot are done, yeah?"

"We are SO close, Thomas! So close!" Eleanor stressed, her voice wavering, her fists balled and her jaw clenched. "We need to get moving!"

Thomas glowered at her. "What we need… is to repair the ship, lick our wounds, bury our dead and give our injured crew time to recover. Until then, this ship is not moving from this spot!"

"Fine," Eleanor threw up her hands. "FINE! But the scientific community will learn of your obstructions, Captain! And so will our expedition investor!"

Kirk glanced over to Nymphadora. "Somehow I suspect Andromeda Black won't mind it too much if we take proper precautions for a damaged ship which carries members of her own family."

Nymphadora only nodded silently in agreement, but this still earned her a death glare from the woman as she strode off into the corridor in a huff, slamming the door behind her. Kirk and Nymphadora stood in silence there for a moment, his quarters still exposed to the frigid air. Nymphadora was the first to break the metaphorical ice. "So… what the bloody fuck was her problem?"

"I don't know," said Kirk. "She's been getting increasingly anxious the closer we get to the supposed lost city. Not sure why. Could simply her being close to the culmination of her life's work. Could be something else. But I'm not taking any unnecessary risks all because she's throwing a tantrum. I know these waters. I know this ship. She does not. Mark my words, she would gladly step over all of our corpses if it would get her an inch closer to her precious lost ruin!"

"Anything for science, huh?" Nymphadora bit her lip. "Even if it means we all have to pay the price for it?"

Captain Kirk gave her worried glance. "I won't let it come to that. But I wasn't entirely truthful," said Kirk. "We do need to keep moving the ship a little bit again and soon or we risk getting frozen stuck into the ice. Lobbing fireballs at the ice to keep the trench open only gets you so far. The faster we get these repairs done, the better."

Nymphadora bit her lip, the idea of being stuck in the ice not being too appealing. "Brought you another tub of liquid wood," said Nymphadora. "Shall I put it over here?"

"Nah," said the captain. "Bring it over to the conference lounge. I'm just finishing up here."

Indeed. In all the commotion Nymphadora had failed to notice that most of the woodwork at the stern of the ship had been repaired. All that was missing were the windowpanes. Kirk swiftly took care of that by waving his wand and whispering a reparo. Immediately, all the shards of glass strewn over the floor shot into the air and floated towards the woodwork. The glass pieces fit together nicely, formed new crystals and eventually set themselves nicely within the wooden frame. "Well," said Kirk. "That's one hole plugged. Tell me, how many more of those tubs of liquid wood do we have left?"

"We're going through them like a pigeon what found a dropped bag of crisps," said Nymphadora. "We've gone through two-thirds of our supply."

Kirk sighed. "Damn," he said. "That what I was afraid of. Liquid wood is only meant for regular hull maintenance. Small tears and cracks. Maybe one larger hole, but that's it. We've taken so much damage that we've almost gone through our entire supply. Try to save some for the rest of the voyage's regular maintenance if you can."

"Will do," said Nymphadora, turning hesitant for a moment. "Captain? What about Riggere?"

"I know," he spoke softly. "Rum-dum's been on my mind. He wanted to be buried on land rather than sea. Thankfully, we're close enough to shore to be able to honour his wish. Once most of the crew are on their feet, we'll arrange a funeral with a service."

Nymphadora shook her head. "I didn't think it could happen, me," said Nymphadora. "Fuck, we were sharing a spliff just the day before, man. I still can't wrap my head around it."

Kirk put a hand on her shoulder. "You never do," he said. "We will honour him and mourn him. And we won't let anyone forget him."

Nymphadora snorted. "I'll have Bellatrix write up a two-page description of his impressive physique and his even more impressive drinking prowess. That I can guarantee!"

Kirk chuckled. "He would have loved that."

A final nod to the captain, and the two of them left the cabin. She couldn't help but notice how he was clutching his side ever so often, grunting in pain. Though he tried to hide it for the sake of the crew, he wasn't as alright as he pretended to be. But she supposed that's why he was the captain. The crew looked up to him for guidance and morale and he had to be an example to them, especially now. She could only imagine what was going through his head right now. The two of them arrived at the conference lounge, now exposed to the elements. Though less damaged than the areas of the ship hit by the Neo-Viking weapons, this area has been damaged from within. This meant the glass had been blown mostly outside and couldn't be repaired. Chandra and Haema, both clad in parkas and the elf stood on a ladder, were busy repairing the damage and painting the windows close with liquid wood. Though the captain undoubtedly had thoughts about firing off a Bombarda Maxima inside his ship, she supposed nobody could blame the woman for it. Plus, she took down two invaders, the outline of their bodies still visible in the scorch marks on the floor. Chandra seemed to have calmed down from her ordeal somewhat.

Nymphadora stood at the ready to help out with the work. No doubt, there was still plenty to do in the long hours ahead.

Hermione sat down on a bench in sickbay, sweat running down her forehead. Assisting Big-Mouth with his surgeries was definitely more than she had bargained for, but she felt she shouldn't complain about discomfort after having helped fish literal shards of metal from someone's intestines. At least Oswald was out of danger now. All of them were. Though plenty of care was still needed, Hermione could finally allow herself to feel tired.

Both her hands, fleshy and silver, were still covered in blood. With a rag, she found her silver one far easier to clean than her organic one. She rubbed a little harder on her left hand, just as an equally tired looking Tahki strolled over and plopped down next to her on the bench.

Big-Mouth was out across the hall, no starting to give the Neo-Vikings some treatment. Perhaps that one young man she had taken down in the corridor would stop screaming from the pain. 'Taken down'. Such a euphemism. After all, Hermione's spell had completely burned one of his lungs up from the inside out.

"Finally," Hermione muttered, trying to think of something else. "I'm going to eat something then go back to my cabin to sleep for a bloody week."

"Same," said Tahki. "You know what's the worst? It's the smell. Blood on the air just… smells tangy. Put a lot of people together and it all mixes. God, I don't wanna know how old hospitals in the olden days used to smell."

"Hah," said Hermione. "Most people who went to hospital in the Victorian age never went out again. Doctors had no idea of cleanliness. Did you know that the doctors with the most gore encrusted instruments and attire had the most prestige? Crazy when you think about it."

"Yeah…" said Tahki.

Silence.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"You kinda… went apeshit in the corridor."

"Oh?"

"Way you took down that one boy?" said Tahki. "Just, wand raised, straight for the kill. You missed his heart by an inch. He's lucky to be alive. And then… when I saw the state of the other guy's body when we dragged the bodies topside. His arms. His skull."

Hermione didn't miss the glance to her silver hand. She sat back a little, holding her silver hand in front of her face. For a moment, she regarded her own reflection and sighed. "They were going to kill most of the crew, but not the women. We were to be taken back to Iceland as slaves. That corpse in the corridor told me we were going to be repeatedly violated on the way home and possibly killed. I… made sure he never had the chance. I did what I had to do."

"Is that what you really think?" asked Tahki. "Or are you trying to justify it?"

"Maybe a little bit of both," said Hermione. Her gaze fell on Sunniva who was now quietly sleeping on one of the stretchers. Nobody would wanted to admit it, but she came really close to death after that dagger had hit a major artery in her leg. Tahki had been quite diligent in caring for her. "What about her, hm?" asked Hermione.

"What about her?" asked Tahki.

"Are you going for her?" pressed Hermione.

Tahki blinked. "Are you nuts? She's just a friend and I'm not gay, alright?"

Hermione shrugged. "We almost died today. So why not live it up a little? And Sunniva is obviously smitten with you. Have you seen the way she looks at you? Take it from a gay girl, Tahki, she's really into you."

"Bullshit," Tahki snorted. "Did Nymph put you up to this?"

"She saved your life today," stated Hermione, her own voice sounding almost dull and mechanical. "You've shagged people for far less."

Tahki blinked. "Jesus, you're mean-spirited today."

"Sorry. You're right, that was crass," said Hermione, offering an apologetic smile. Even that looked as if she was just going through the motions. "It's just the fatigue speaking. But I think my point is clear. You've thought about it, right?"

The slight blush appearing on Tahki's cheeks was her answer to that question. Before the conversation could go any further, someone popped in through the door. Someone who was far too plucky and enthusiastic to match their current mood. Bellatrix plopped down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Heya," she greeted warmly. "I'm done closing the hole in the side of the ship. You'll notice it'll be a lot less cold soon."

In her other arm was a small bundle, a blanket with two antennae sticking out of it, which she then put on her lap.

Hermione lay her head on her shoulders. Being around Bellatrix was just so bloody comfortable for now. "I'm… just so bloody tired. Could we go back to our cabin, Trix?"

"It's okay," said Tahki. "I got things under control here."

Bellatrix looked her in the eye, her own dark eyes brimming with concern. Bellatrix shared a look with Tahki, someone who was also apparently concerned about her. Bellatrix nodded and the two of them got up from the bench. Together, they walked outside where Hermione froze a moment when she heard the screams of the young Neo-Viking being treated, again the very same young Neo-Viking she had taken down without a second thought. Hermione felt numb on the way to their cabin and when she finally opened the door and was let inside, she felt so much relief. And pain. At the same time.

While Bellatrix gently put down the bundled up Zipper into his cat carrier on top of the dresser so he could warm up a little more, Hermione found herself thinking more and more about what had happened in the corridor. How she had taken down that young man without a second thought… acting completely on instinct. Them or us. Simple as that. Or was it? That other Neo-Viking, though undeniably a bastard of the highest order, she'd crushed his skull. She'd crushed his skull after he'd been downed. Oh, she told herself that it was in the heat of the moment, that it had been necessary. Of the things that would have happened to her if he hadn't been taken out and his comrades had healed him after winning. But the young Neo-Viking; she'd tried to strangle him after… Hermione found her hands to be shaking, her entire body following swiftly.

"Hermie?" asked Bellatrix.

"Just hold me," Hermione sobbed.

Bellatrix clutched onto her tightly as they lay on the bed, Hermione quietly crying into her bosom while her young girlfriend gently stroked her brown hair. "My silver hand… it's controlled directly by my soul. That's how the magic works…"

"Yes," Bellatrix nodded. "What of it?"

"My hand acted upon instinct, my instinct," Hermione sniffed. "My soul wanted those men dead and the hand responded. It only acted upon my thoughts and instincts. My soul wanted to unarmed defeated people dead. I'm broken, Trix. I'm fundamentally broken…"

"It's not your fault," said Bellatrix. "They were going to kill us."

Hermione shook her head. "I… I don't want to be like this anymore…"

"I love you, Hermie," whispered Bellatrix. "I'm here for you, and you're loved. No matter what happens. You're loved…"

Bellatrix loved purely and intensely, and it was a certain truth Hermione could never cast doubt on. And when Zipper freed himself from his blanket and flew over to nestle between them, it was a moment of perfection where Hermione found herself in a cradle of love. It only made Hermione cry more.

Tahki shivered, but not from the cold. She had joined the crew to the nearby island on the two longboats to pay her respects to Rum-dum Riggere. She had stood there with most of the crew, still injured as they were. She had listened to Captain Kirk's eulogy and to some of the stories the crewmembers told. From a daring escape from an Anchorage dive bar to a heartwarming tale from Haema how he had been one of the first to welcome her as the ship's chef when she'd been very self-conscious. Rum-dum Riggere had been truly loved and would be missed,

Tahki had been there also in Bellatrix' stead, and had used Hermione's camera to shoot some pictures of the cairn, a lovely stack of rocks about six feet high with some alcoves for his friends to leave gifts in for his departure to the afterlife. Though Bellatrix would have been eager to document this, her concern was mostly with Hermione. Hermione was feeling 'unwell', as it were and Bellatrix had elected to stay behind to take care of her. Though Tahki had certainly not missed the quiet sobs coming from the cabin while talking with Bellatrix at the door. She worried about Hermione, but she was in good hands right now. And definitely in need of some TLC.

Beodul, the goblin boatswain, stepped forward and slipped a bottle of rum into an alcove. "Ye were a lazy scabrous cunt, lad," the goblin spoke softly. "But ye were our lazy scabrous cunt. Going to miss ye, mate."

Nymphadora stepped forward next, putting a small case and something else in an alcove. "Set of spliffs. Jamaican ganja. Little taste of home here in the Arctic and a lighter to go with it," she spoke. Nymph bit her lip for a moment and tapped the cairn with a gloved hand. "See you around, cock."

Haema was next, placing a packet of cookies in one of the alcove. More and more crew were leaving little gifts. Tahki felt a bit embarrassed to not have brought something. It wasn't until she was sat in the longboat travelling back to the Kingfisher that she stopped to think and realized that she had barely really known the man. Sure, they'd fucked. Fucked several times, in fact. But they hardly ever really talked. Outside of casual sex there'd been nothing else. Hell, even Nymph whom had been on the ship barely a week longer than she did had known the man much better.

And now he was dead. Just like that.

Memories shifted to her other conquests. Being away from home had made her go on a bit of a hedonistic rampage, increasing her body-count significantly to a point that Nymphadora was making fun of her for it. Justified or not, all those encounters had just been empty pleasure-fests. Sure, it was a rush to fuck someone in the bathroom stall of a club while the beat of music sours through you, but it wasn't really anything more than that. As the ship came into view, she admitted to herself that she had never really been in love.

Truth be told, she was rather jealous of what Bellatrix and Hermione had. They were in love. Deeply in love. It was like they always had belonged together. Oh, they'd often yell at each other for something or whatever, but in the end… Tahki snorted, feeling somewhat depressed by the thought of the simple way Bellatrix would like to hold Hermione's hand, gently squeezing, gently rubbing. Nobody'd ever held Tahki's hand like that before. Maybe she was just that unlovable.

Closer to the Kingfisher, she could see that most of the repairs had been done. Copperhead was sat on a hanging bench suspended with two ropes to apply varnish to the repaired sections of the hull. She took in the sight of the ship, her home away from home. Sleek and strong, it had taken good care of them so far, to a point that it had become somewhat of a friend itself. The Kingfisher, its figurehead proud, fierce and colourful against the white winds and the frozen wastes, was temperamental yet nurturing. It had a character all of its own. A ship like that had a soul. Tahki looked at it and, even though she knew in her mind it was just caused by the amalgam of all magical objects and people on board, she liked to think that what she saw was the ship's aura. Red, fiery and energetic, the Kingfisher was determined not to let the hostile frozen wastes defeat her. It was inspiring.

There was some activity on the two drakkar too as the surviving Neo-Vikings were preparing them. Perhaps they were leaving?

When she stepped on board, she found Sunniva stood on the deck, observing the closest drakkar. As the crew were hoisting the longboats on board to secure them to the deck, Tahki joined her by the railing. Looking over the side, she could see that the bodies of the dead vikings had been lain out in the drakkar on top of beds of wood.

"Hey, Sunni," greeted Tahki. The tall woman, still clad in her impressive armour… and exposing her rather impressive abs to the elements, smiled at her.

"Aren't you cold?" asked Tahki, stealing a look at her partially exposed cleavage too. Damn, this woman really did make the most out of a scalemail bikini top.

Sunniva shook her head, blonde tresses tied in tails moving gently in the breeze. The wind was still blasting snow across the deck, after all. "My people are particularly well suited to the cold," said Sunniva. "How was the ceremony?" asked Sunniva.

Tahki again felt a bit glum. "Good, I suppose. Riggere… I didn't really know him. I mean, we fucked a couple of times, sure, but there really wasn't any deep connection. But now that he's dead…"

"I understand," said Sunniva, motioning to the drakkar in front of them. "Ragnar. He might have been an honourless dog, but he was still my brother. So we have gathered the bodies of him and his men into his drakkar and will set it ablaze. We shall light a beacon for the winged women. Let them decide who will deserve a seat at Odin's table and who will not."

Then Tahki asked the question she didn't want to ask. "Sunni? I see the other Neo-Vikings at the second Drakkar. Will you be leaving with them? I mean, you did win the holmgang, right?"

Sunniva shook her head. "No. The queen declared me a pariah. That has not changed. There is nothing for me waiting at Thule other than an axe to the neck."

"Your mother…" Tahki sighed, feeling for her but at the same time oddly relieved. A horrible thought came over her. "It's not… because of me, right? I mean because I shot Ragnar. Does that count as cheating? I hope not."

Sunniva chuckled and shook her head. "No, I decisively won the holmgang. Because I had the loyalty of those who would intervene on my behalf when dishonour was shown. To answer your question, no. On the contrary, you helped me win it."

That made Tahki unreasonably happy, to a point that she reached into her jacket and willed the weapon to appear. She held it out for Sunniva to see proudly. "Classic Smith & Wesson .22 Bekeart, made in 1930, a gift from my gramps. And I'll have you know I'm a mean shot, just as you've seen! Once we're in Montana we'll go to the range. If you still want to go, that is."

"I do," said Sunniva. She reached out and took hold of Tahki's hand. Even through her glove, Tahki could feel the strength of her hand and the softness of her skin. The tall blonde warrior woman, though towering over her, had such gentleness. Tahki felt her breath catch in her throat. Gentle squeezing, soft rubbing. She didn't quite know what to say, what to feel or how to respond. So she simply stood next to Sunniva, enjoying the moment.

"Tell me," asked Sunniva. "Among our people, we prove our worth to perspective mates by making a show of our accomplishments. It is different for each class. A raider would show the treasures they had gathered. Royalty the lands and ships that they own or the jomsvikingr they command. A craftsmen the tools that they own or the quality of their crafts. Is this the same among your people?"

"Huh?" Tahki started out of her hand-holding induced stupor before actually register the question. "Oh, uh… used to be that someone would prove their worth to a potential partner by some test of skill. Like going out hunting and bringing back a trophy taken from a fierce beast. Or the scalp of an enemy. And then presenting it to the father of the potential partner."

Sunniva didn't look her in the eye, but rather stared out over the wastes. "I will keep that in mind…"

"I should probably mention we don't do that anymore," said Tahki. "These days it's just, I dunno, dating?"

"Tradition is important," was Sunniva's only reply.

Tahki watched, her hand still being held, when the drakkar was pushed back into the ship's wake. And, when far enough one of the Vikings, Svari was her name she believed, stood up in the other drakkar with a bow. An arrow tipped in tar was swiftly lit on fire and it flew across the frozen winds until it hit the pyre. The drakkar containing the bodies of the Vikings lit up like a torch in the night. Looking over to Sunniva, Tahki could see tears in her eyes. Despite everything, she still loved her brother. She could only hope Sunniva wouldn't resent her for it.

Tahki remembered to shoot some pictures for Hermione's collection and Bellatrix' book. Though doing so with one hand, she hoped that the picture wouldn't be too blurry. There was simply no way she was going to rip her hand away from Sunniva's lovely gentle grip.

Despite the biting cold, the fire did its thing to burn up the bodies and damage the boat enough that it started to sink. Until the last moment, until the drakkar disappeared underneath the waves, the fire defiantly raged against its eventual death. But it was finally over.

Captain Kirk gave the order to set sail again. Above her the sails unfurled and the ship started moving again, its copper plates brimming with power, the Kingfisher would soon again smash through the ice like a knife through butter. On the other side, the drakkar containing the six surviving Neo-Vikings had managed to turn around in the ship's wake and started moving in the other direction. Though Sunniva was no doubt sad about it, Tahki was selfishly happy that she was staying.

She watched the drakkar as it was leaving her view, obstructed by the never-ending snowy winds. It was then that Bellatrix emerged on deck. "Heya," greeted her cousin as she plopped against the railing right next to them. "What's been going on?"

"A Viking funeral," said Tahki. "Impressive sight, really."

Bellatrix made a face. "Oh, bother! And I missed it?!"

"Tahki has made photographs," said Sunniva.

"Ah, good, good! I want to see those once Hermione feels better and can use that lappytoppy muggle thingy of hers," said Bellatrix.

Tahki smirked. "You know, they've very easy to use. You could do it yourself. Put the photos on the laptop and watch them, I mean."

"Ew, no!" Bellatrix shook her head.

"You're just lazy."

"Guilty as charged!"

"How's Hermione doing?" asked Tahki.

"Awful," said Bellatrix. "She's sleeping right now, so I slipped out to fetch some dinner for us. Needed some fresh air. I'll go back to her in a bit."

As Bellatrix bantered at her, she felt something distinctly off in the flow of magic around her. Bellatrix' bantered faded as Tahki tried to concentrate. Though the presence of the lost city so nearby was still overwhelming at the best of time, a big disturbance like she was feeling like now was hard to miss. Whatever it was, it was big and it most fast. It was…. She tried to pinpoint it. Above. No. Below. Below them. Below the ice itself. What could it be? Almost instinctively, she leaned forward to watch the waters.

She felt her stomach fell down into a bottomless pit at whatever is was shot underneath the ship. Her eyes were drawn to the ship's wake where she saw… no felt it move. To the drakkar sailing away from them.

Until it no longer existed.

The drakkar had been turned into splinters within seconds, a massive tower of water and ice exploding into the air. The Kingfisher shook from the impact as something… something shot up far above them and a sound akin a thousand lions roaring at once split the air in two. What… what the fuck had just happened?

"DRAGON!" sounded Daelia from the crow's nest. "It's a dragon!"

Not just any dragon. Just about the biggest fucking dragon she had ever seen.

Her hand, first lovingly held, was now tightly squeezed. Next to her, Sunniva expression was one of abject terror as her chest heaved and her jaw trembled. "Níðhöggr…" she whispered. "He has come for us… NÍÐHÖGGR HAS COME TO CLAIM US!"